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EColourad  eovan/ 
Couvartura  da  eoulaur 

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Couvartura  andommaiAa 

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La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 

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ax 

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7AX 

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^^ 

19* 

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«ion.  or  th*  back  covar  whan  appropriate.  All 
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plus  grand  soin.  compts  lenu  de  la  condition  at 
da  la  nanet*  de  I'exemplaira  film*,  et  »n 
conformity  avee  lea  conditions  du  contrat  de 
tllmage. 

Lee  eaemplairae  originaua  dont  la  couvarture  an 
papier  eat  Imprimae  sont  fllma*  en  cemmancani 
par  le  premier  plot  et  en  terminant  soil  par  la 
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d'lmpr**aion  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  la  second 
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originaux  aont  filmts  an  commencant  par  la 
pramitre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreaaion  ou  d'illustration  at  en  terminant  par 
la  derniire  pag*  qui  comport*  un*  t*li* 
•mpr*int*. 

Un  d**  symbol**  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
darnlAre  image  d*  cheque  microfiche,  salon  la 
cas:  le  symbols  ••»  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  Cham.  etc..  mey  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  lerge  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom,  as  many  frames  ss 
required.  The  following  disgrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Las  eartea,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  etra 
filmto  i  dea  Uux  de  rMuction  diftArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  itra 
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de  Tangle  suparieur  geuche.  de  gauche  *  droite, 
et  de  haul  en  bes.  sn  prenant  la  nombre 
d'imagea  nteasseire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mathode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

WICtOCOTY   nSOUJTKm  TBT  CHA>T 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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_^  /■APPLIED  IM/lGE 

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"•.JS  Rochester,   New  York         1*609       US, 

•-^  (?'6)   *a2  -  OJOO  -  Phone 

^S  (^'6)   288  -  5989  -  Fox 


j  fnc 

HIGH  HFART 

-■■•■    fflW   


7- 


-^, 


-9 


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■I'VE   BEEN  THINKING  A   GOOD   DEAL    DURING  THE    PAST   FEW   WEEKS 
OR   YOUR   LAW  OF   TaGHT " 


n 


THE 
HIGH   HEART 


BY 

BASIL  KING 

ADTHOK  OF 
THE  INNER  SHRINE,  THE  LIFTED  VEIL.  Eic. 


ILLUSTRATED 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS      *        NEW    VO^K 


PablUhed  bjr  A»,.a,.».„,  wi,|,  H.,p„  »  B,„i,; 


f^^S3SU/ 


259015 


1^  Hna  Run 
£°Wli|lit,  wi».  br  HMper  &  Bndm 
Printed  In  the  United  Sutee  of  Ameiic. 
PnblMied  September,  m; 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


CHAPTER  I 


I  COULD  not  have  lived  in  the  Brokenshire  circle  for 
nearly  a  year  without  lecognizing  the  fact  that  in  the 
eyes  of  his  family  J.  Howard,  as  he  was  commonly  called 
by  the  world,  was  the  Great  Dispenser;  but  my  first  inti- 
mation that  he  meant  to  act  in  that  capacity  towaid  me 
camef'&om  Larry  Strangways,  on  a  bright  July  morning 
dining  the  summer  of  1913,  when  we  were  at  Newport. 
I  was  crossing  the  lawn,  going  toward  the  sea,  with  little 
Gladys  Rossiter,  to  whom  I  acted  as  companion  in  the 
hours  when  she  was  out  of  the  nursery,  with  a  specific  duty 
to  speak  French.  Larry  Strangwajrs  was  tutor  to  th" 
Rossiter  boy,  and  in  our  relative  positions  we  were  bound 
to  exercise  toward  each  other  a  good  deal  of  discretion. 
We  fraternized  with  constraint.  We  fraternized  because 
— well,  chiefly  because  we  couldn't  help  it.  In  the  mock- 
ing flare  of  his  eye,  which  contradicted  the  assumed  young 
gravity  of  his  manner,  I  read  an  opinion  of  the  Rossiter 
household  and  of  the  Brokenshire  family  in  general  similar 
to  my  own.  That  would  have  been  enough  for  mutual 
comprehension  had  there  been  no  instinctive  sympathies 
between  us;  but  there  were.  Allowing  for  the  fact  that 
we  were  of  different  nationalities,  we  had  the  same  kind  of 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

IT^^'J"  T";  '^'  '^«  ^""^  °f  *^  language- 
Z^  the  same  kind  of  aims  in  life.  Neither  of  m  ^' 
ganfed  the  position  in  the  Rossiter  establish^-nf 

whSmT'^'^-  ^^*^°«y^asthecontinentt,3 
wluch  more  or  «s  consciously  I  had  been  traveling  fo7fl^ 
w  s«  years,  without  having  actuaUy  descried  a  r^     t 

S^en'ZSL'  "^^  '^'^^  -  «"''  St  wS  had 
t^  pkce  be^een  myself  and  Mrs.  Rossiter  after  I S 

I  had  met  Mrs.  Rossiter,  who  was  J.  Howard  B«,t«, 
n^  understood  why  she  should  have  taken  a  hm^  for 

bHck  man^oTltd  Wn^^S^mriifTwlth^g^^J 
conservatories  and  lawns  running  down  to  t^H, 
br^k-harbor  which  we  call  the  Non W  L  Ljf fi^: 

to  our  recent  bereavement  and  financial  crash,  which  had 
^rlZ-'^l  f  *^  twenty-four  years  of  comfortTiat  ^ 
proportionately  ^^teful.    It  was  partly  grati;.?  ^" 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

partly  a  natural  love  of  children,  and  partly  a  special 
affection  for  the  exquisite  thing  herself,  that  drew  me  to 
htUe  Gladys  Rossiter,  to  playing  with  her  on  the  lawns 

and  rowing  her  on  the  Arm.  and-as  I  had  been  for  thre^ 
or  four  years  at  school  in  Paris-dropping  into  a  habit  of 
hsping  French  to  her.  As  the  child  liked  me  the  mother 
left  tax  more  and  more  to  my  care,  gaming  thus  the  greater 
scope  for  her  innocuous  flirtations. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  summer  that  Mrs.  Rossiter 
began  to  sigh, "  I  don't  know  how  I  shaU  ever  tear  Gladys 
away  from  you."  and,  "I  do  wish  you  were  coming  witix 
us. 

I  wi^  it  in  a  way  myself,  since  I  was  rather  at  a  loss 
astowhattodo.    I  had  never  expected  to  have  to  earn  a 
living;  I  had  expected  to  get  married.    My  two  elder 
astCTs,  Louise  and  Victoria,  had  married  easfly  enough  the 
one  m  the  Navy,  the  other  in  the  Army;  but  with  me  ^t- 
ors  seemed  to  lag.    They  came  and  saw— but  they  never 
went  far  enough  for  conquest.    I  couldn't  understand  it 
I  was  not  stupid;  I  was  not  ugly;  and  I  was  generally 
spoken  of  as  having  „xarm.    But  there  was  the  fact  that  I 
was  twenty. four,  with  scarcely  a  penny,  and  drawing- 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  end  of  my  expedients.    I  was  not 
without  some  social  experience,  having  kept  house  in  a 
generous  way  for  my  widowed  father,  till  his  death  some 
two  years  before  th  =  summer  when  I  met  Mrs.  Rossiter, 
brought  with  it  our  financial  collapse.    If  he  hadn't  left  a 
lot  of  old  bodks-Ccnadiana,  the  pamphlets  were  called— 
and  rare  first  editions  of  all  kinds,  which  I  took  over  to 
London  and  sold  at  Sothbey's,  I  shouldn't  have  had  enough 
on  which  to  dress.    This  business  being  settled,  I  stayed 
M  long  as  I  decently  could  with  Louise  at  Southsea  and 
Victoria  at  Gibraltar;  but  no  man  asked  me  to  marry  him 
3 


R  I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Axring  the  course  of  either  visit.  Had  there  been  a  sisn 
of  any  such  posMWUty  the  sisters  would  have  put  them- 
selves  out  to  keep  me;  but  as  nothing  warranted  them  in 
domg  so  they  let  me  go.  An  unde  and  aunt  having  offered 
to  give  me  shelter  for  a  time  at  Halifax,  there  was  nothing 
left  for  It  but  to  go  back  and  renew  the  search  for  my  for- 
tunes  m  my  native  town. 

When,  therefore,  Mrs.  Rossiter,  in  her  pretty,  helpless 
way  said  to  me  one  day.  "Why  shouldn't  you  come  ^th 
me,  dear  Mi^  Adare?"  I  jumped  inwardly  at  the  oppor- 
tumty  though  I  aniled  and  replied  in  an  offhand  mZ^. 
un,  that  would  have  to  be  discussed." 
Mrs  Rossiter  admitted  the  truth'of  this  observation 
somewhat  pensively.  I  know  now  that  I  took  her  uo 
with  too  much  promptitude. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  returned,  absenuy.  and  the  subject 
was  dropped. 

It  was  taken  up  again,  however,  and  our  bargain  made 
On  Mrs.  Rossiter's  part  it  was  made  astutely,  not  in  the 
matter  of  money,  but  in  the  way  in  which  she  shifted  me 
from  the  position  of  a  friend  into  that  of  a  retainer     It 
WM  done  with  the  most  perfect  tact,  but  it  was  done     I 
had  no  complaint  to  make.    What  she  wanted  was  a  nura- 
ery  governMs.    My  own  first  preoccupations  were  food 
and  shelter  for  which  I  should  not  be  dependent  on  my  kin 
We  .ame  to  the  incident  I  am  about  to  relate  very  gradu- 
ally;  but  when  we  did  come  to  it  I  had  no  difficulty  in  see- 
ing that  It  had  been  in  the  back  of  Mrs.  Rossiter's  mind 
from  the  first.    It  had  been  the  cause  of  that  second 
thought  on  the  day  when  I  had  taken  her  up  too  readily 
She  began  by  telling  me  about  her  father.    Beyond  the 
lact  that  some  man  who  seemed  to  be  speciaUy  weU  in- 
tormed  would  occasionaUy  say  with  awe.  "  She's  J.  Howard 
4 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

BrolceiuhiK's  daughter,"  I  knew  nothing  whatever  about 
him.  But  I  began  to  see  him  now  as  the  central  sun  round 
whom  all  the  Brokenshires  revolved.  They  revolved 
round  him,  not  ••o  much  from  adoration  or  even  from 
natural  afiCection  as  from  some  tremendous  rotary  force  to 
which  there  was  no  resistance. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  heard  no  more  of  American  life 
than  American  life  had  heard  of  me.  The  great  country 
south  of  our  border  was  scarcely  on  my  map.  The  Halifax 
in  whirJi  I  was  bom  and  grew  up  was  not  the  bustling 
Canadian  port,  dependent  on  its  hinterland,  it  is  to-day; 
it  was  an  outpost  of  England,  with  its  face  always  turned 
to  the  Atlantic  and  the  east.  My  own  face  had  been 
turned  the  same  way.  My  home  had  been  literally  a 
jumping-ofi  place,  in  that  when  we  left  it  we  never  expected 
to  go  in  any  but  the  one  direction.  I  had  known  Ameri- 
cans when  they  came  into  our  midst  as  summer  visitors, 
but  only  in  the  way  one  knows  the  stars  which  dawn  and 
fade  and  leave  no  trace  of  their  passage  on  actual  happen- 
ings. 

In  the  course  of  Mrs.  Rossiter's  confidences  I  began  to 
see  a  vast  cosmogony  beyond  my  own  personal  sun,  with 
J.  Howard  Brokenshire  as  the  pivot  of  the  new  universe. 
With  a  curious  little  shock  of  surprise  I  discovered  that 
there  could  be  otjier  solar  ssrstems  besides  the  one  to  which 
I  was  accustomed,  and  that  Canada  was  not  the  whole  of 
North  America.  It  was  like  looking  through  a  telescope 
which  Mrs.  Rossiter  held  to  my  eye,  a  telescope  through 
which  I  saw  the  nebular  evidence  of  an  immense  society, 
wealthy,  confused,  more  intellectual  than  our  own,  but 
more  provincial  too,  perhaps;  more  isolated,  more  timid, 
more  conservative,  less  instinct  with  the  great  throb  of 
national  and  international  impulse  which  all  of  us  feel  who 
5 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

■entea  the  opportunities  not  merely  of  a  T  ;t,„  7      ^ 
St«>ley,  b^t  of  a  Galileo  or  a  ^L!!.'^""^'""'  "  » 
1  learned  that  Mrs.  Rossiter's  mother  had  h*«,  .  w 

that  her  father's  secc^fLLS^lt^n^Tri^f  J" 
family.    Not  that  there  had  b^^^^  dj^^"  ^' 

^»f;  -1       -H  7=  very  pretty ...  but  1  often-wonder^ 
6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  was  helping  her  to  pack— that  is,  I  was  hdping  the 
maid  while  Mrs.  Rossiter  directed.  Just  at  that  minute, 
however,  she  was  standing  up,  shaking  out  the  folds  of  an 
evening  dress.  She  se«aned  to  peep  at  me  round  its  gar- 
nishings  as  she  said,  apropos  of  nothing: 

"There's  my  brother  Hugh.  He's  the  youngest  of  us 
all— just  twenty-six.  He  has  no  occupation  as  yet— he's 
just  studying  languages  and  things.  My  father  wants 
him  to  go  into  diplomacy."  As  I  caught  her  eye  there 
was  a  smile  in  it,  but  a  special  kind  of  smile.  It  was  the 
smile  to  go  with  the  sensible,  kindly,  coaxing  inflection 
with  which  she  said,  "  You'U  leave  him  alone,  won't  you?" 

I  took  the  dress  out  of  her  hand  to  carry  it  to  the  maid 
in  the  next  room. 

"  Leave  him  alone— how  ?" 
She  flushed  to  a  lovely  pink. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.    I  don't  have  to  explain." 
"You  mean  that  in  my  position  in  the  household  it  will 
be  for  me  to — ^ta  keep  out  of  his  way?" 

II  It's  you  who  put  it  like  that,  dear  Miss  Adaie— " 
"But  it's  the  way  you  want  me  to  put  it?" 
"Well,  if  I  admit  that  it  is?" 

"Then  I  don't  think  I  care  for  the  place." 

"What?" 

I  stated  my  position  more  simply. 

"If  I'm  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  brother,  Mrs 
Rossiter,  I  don't  Iraat  to  go." 

In  the  audacity  of  this  response  she  saw  something  that 
amused  her,  for,  snatching  the  dress  from  my  hand,  she 
ran  with  it  into  the  next  room,  laug.iing. 

During  the  following  winter  in  New  York  and  the  eariy 
summer  of  the  next  year  in  Newport  I  saw  a  good  deal  of 
Mr.  Hugh  Brokenshire,  but  never  with  any  violent  restrio- 
'  7 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

««  on  the  part  of  Mn.  R«wter.    I  «y  violent  wJfi. 

ana  that  was  from  Larry  Strani?wav«     Tf  „»  "^  "  °"> 
tion  he  had  overh«^inST«J  J     o  °'^'*^ 

Fortified  by  this  acquittal  I  went  An  m„  ™» 

andcoineinmvdirprt,n„     ^"^  «»»««  across  the  lawn 

give  him  the  authorization  but  something  in  the  wIvTn 
message  or  command     t«  ,11   u        ^^''  "^^  ^  * 

ne  to  avoid  ham  while  prudence,  as  I  have  hinted  gave 

l>«n  the  same  mdic^tion  to  keep  at  a  distance  S»^ 

8 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Lucidly  be  didn't  live  in  the  houie,  but  in  lodgings  in  the 
town.  We  hardly  ever  met  face  to  face,  and  then  only 
under  the  eye  of  Mrs.  Roanter  when  each  of  us  mar- 
shaled a  pupil  to  lunch  or  to  tea. 

As  the  collie  at  his  heels  and  the  wire-haired  terrier  at 
OUTS  made  a  bee-line  for  each  other  the  children  kept  them 
company,  which  gave  us  space  for  those  few  minutes  of 
privacy  the  occasion  apparently  demanded.  Though  he 
lifted  his  hat  formally,  and  did  his  best  to  preserve  the 
decorum  of  our  official  situations,  the  prank  in  his  eye 
flung  out  that  signal  to  which  I  could  never  do  anything 
but  respond. 

"  I've  a  message  for  you,  Miss  Adare." 

I  managed  to  stammer  out  the  word  "Indeed?"  I 
couldn't  be  surprised,  and  yet  I  could  hardly  stand  erect 
from  fear. 

He  glanced  at  the  children  to  make  sure  they  were  out 
of  earshot. 

"It's  from  the  great  man  himself— indirectly." 

I  was  so  near  to  collapse  that  I  could  only  say, "  Indeed?" 
again,  though  I  rallied  sufficiently  to  add,  "I  didn't  know 
he  was  aware  of  my  existence."   . 

"Apparently  he  wasn't — ^but  he  is  now.  He  desires  you 
— ^I  give  you  the  verb  as  Spellman,  the  secretary,  passed  it 
on  to  me— he  desires  you  to  be  in  the  breakfast  loggia  here 
at  three  this  aftemoori." 

I  could  barely  squeak  the  words  out : 

"Does  he  mean  that  he's  coming  to  see  me?" 

"That,  it  seems,  isn't  necessary  for  you  to  know.  Your 
business  is  to  be  there.  There's  quite  a  subtle  point  in  the 
limitation.  Being  there,  you'll  see  what  will  happen  next 
It  isn't  good  for  you  to  be  told  too  much  at  a  time." 

My  spirit  began  to  revive. 
9 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


W«  lervant.    I'm  Mr..  Rowter-g.    If  h. 
-W  c<  ».  why  doe«,-t  he  ^yZ>  tZ^ 


"I'm  nr 
want!  Ml 
her?" 

But  he's  not  God." 
"Oh,  as  to  that— -well  vou'll  «>.  ••    tt     j  j  . 

!i?ht  laugh.  "Wl^TS'S^ J^rit  I  dc^f^  '^'^  '^ 
it  s  all  about?"  y™  w  that  I  doa  t  know  what 

"Oh,  I  bet  you  do." 

I  Ss'°^tSr"™'^"  "^''*  "P  '"^"t  it." 
..  ^  P'ttMK  on  my  mettle. 

"N?T.'  '"T^'  I  *«'a't  be  alone." 
"fiin^S^    be  made  to  feel  alone." 

l^Uhi  itr.^^  "^  ^  ^«-«  beforehand,  I 
''Yes?"  he  jogged.    "Even  so-what?" 

-«2t  is^-^fl^^r. --  "-t  i:«  -t  afraid  of  him 
toUy.,  «»«cted,    Ifflnotafraidofhimfundamen- 

°^me.    "No.  lS.S:^^7^-=-»«J  to  approve 
why  not."  ""*^y°^i  are.  out  I  wonder  a  little 

the  islets  that  ^JZe^tS^l^""'  ""'  ""  *° 
end  r  decided  to  speak  ^b^T^.^  *'  ^"'°"-    ^^  the 
I-Jatlast.  "bS^rr^tai^SJ^f^"^^-" 
SToii  mean  him?"  ^^ 

-L'"lZ.'^';;^*Jl"*°  .«"«•>  Br^kenshir..    "KI 
'      '^''^'  ^^  » '»«'«te's  thinking,  "it's  only 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

M  the  greater  includes  the  len,  or  u  the  univenal  indudes 
everything. 

He  whittled  under  his  breath. 

"  Does  that  mean  anything  ?    Or  is  it  just  big  talk  i"' 

Half  shy  and  half  ashamed  of  going  on  with  what  I  hart 
to  say,  I  was  obliged  to  smile  ruefully. 

"  It's  big  talk  because  it's  a  big  principle.  I  don't  know 
how  to  manage  it  with  anything  small. "  I  tried  to  explain 
further,  knowing  that  my  dark  skin  flushed  to  a  kind  of 
dahlia-red  while  I  was  doing  so.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
I've  read  it— or  whether  I  heard  it— or  whether  I've  just 
evolved  it— but  I  seem  to  have  got  hold  of— of— don't 
laug^  too  hard,  please— of  the  secret  of  success." 

"Good  for  youl  I  hope  you're  not  going  to  be  stinry 
with  it." 

"No;  I'll  tell  you— partly  because  I  want  to  talk  about 
it  to  some  one,  and  just  at  present  there's  no  one  else  " 

"Thanks!" 

"The  secret  of  success,  as  I  reason  it  out,  must  be  some- 
thing that  will  protect  a  weak  person  against  a  strong 
one— me,  for  instance,  against  J.  Howard  Brokenshire— 
and  work  everything  out  all  right.  There,"  I  cried,  "  I've 
said  the  word." 

"You've  said  a  number.     Which  is  the  one?" 

Anxiety  not  to  seem  either  young  or  didactic  or  a  prig 
made  my  tone  apologetic. 

"There'-i  such  a  thing  as  Right,  written  with  a  capital. 
If  I  persist  in  doing  Right-^till  with  a  capital— then 
nothing  but  right  can  come  of  it." 

"Oh,  can't  it!" 

"  I  know  it  sounds  like  a  platitude — " 

"No,  it  doesn't,"  he  interrupted,  rudely,  "because  a 
platitude  is  something  obviously  true;  and  this  isn't." 


THE  HIGH   HEART 


I  thought  it  must  be." 
Suppose  you  do  right 


I  felt  some  relief. 
"Oh,  isn't  it?    Then  I'm  glad. 
"You  won't  go  on  thinking  it 
and  somebody  else  does  wrong?" 

"Then  I  should  be  willing  to  back  my  way  against  his. 
Don  t  you  s^?    That's  the  point.    Thlt'stLI^S 
tdtog  you  about.    Right  works;  wx«:g  doesn'tT^ 
Inat  s  all  very  fine—" 

wJrf  wm  J"^  ^  ^"^ ''''  *'•    ^'Sht  is-whaf 8  the 
wonJ  Wilham  James  put  into  the  dictionaiy?" 
He  suggested  pragmatism. 

"That's  it.    Right  is  pragmatic,  which  I  suppose  is  the 
--thmg,  as  practical.    Wrong  must  be  imj^.^,  fit 

Jiiftr^^l\^  *°°  confidently  on  that  in  dealing 
with  the  great  J.  Howard."  ^^^ 

hil!t!.!i°'f"^^''^''°"'*-    It's  where  I'm  to  have 

S^ttL^Tv^-  «''^doesw«>ngwhileIdorighT 
way,  then  1 11  get  him  on  the  hip." 

•'^  How  do  you  know  he's  going  to  do  wrong?" 

..„:°°  *•    ^  °^^^y  ^"^^  it-    If  he  does  right-"- 
He  U  get  you  on  the  hip." 

to  the  other.  That's  not  m  common  sense.  If  he  doi 
n«h  theal  shall  be  saf^whichever  way  I  have  to  takeT 
Dontyousee?    That's  whe«  the  succeL  comes  fa  aTw  J 

Tbill^J"^''-'^^^°*^^^y-    Please  dS 

^^Z  ^  't  "''^*  "•  ^-  ^^"^  ^  th«  tin-pot 

style-but  one  must  express  oneself  somehow.  I'm  not 
^d.  because  I  feel  as  if  I'd  got  something  tha  woS 
W  about  me  hke  a  magic  cloak.  Of  couri  for  yT^a 
man-a  magic  cloak  may   .ot  be  necessaiy;  but  I^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

you  that  for  a  girl  like  me,  out  in  the  world  on  her 
own — '* 

He,  too,  sobered  down  from  his  cha£5ng  mood. 

"But  in  this  case  what  is  going  to  be  Right— written 
with  a  capital?" 

I  had  just  time  to  reply,  "Oh,  that  I  shall  have  to  see!" 
when  the  children  and  dogs  came  scampering  up  and  our 
conversation  was  over. 

On  returning  from  my  walk  with  Gladys  I  informed  Mrs. 
Rossiter  of  the  order  I  had  received.  I  could  see  her  dis- 
tressed look  in  the  mirror  before  which  she  sat  doing  some- 
thing to  her  hair. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  sighed,  "it's  just  what  I  was  afraid  of. 
Now  I  suppose  he'll  want  you  to  leave." 

"That  is,  he'll  want  you  to  send  me  away." 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  she  said,  fretfully,  and  sat  with 
hands  lying  idly  in  her  lap. 

She  stared  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a  large  bow  win- 
dow, with  a  window-seat  cushioned  in  flowered  chintz. 
Couch,  curtains,  and  easy-chairs  reproduced  this  En- want- 
ed Garden  effect,  forming  a  paradisiacal  background  for 
her  intensely  modem  and  somewhat  neurotic  prettiness. 
I  had  seen  her  sit  by  the  half-hour  like  this,  gazing  over  the 
shrubberies,  lawns,  and  waves,  with  a  jreaming  in  her  eyes 
like  that  of  some  twentieth-century  Blessed  Damozel. 

It  was  her  unhappy  hour  of  the  day.  Between  getting 
up  at  nine  or  ten  and  descending  languidly  to  limch,  life 
was  always  a  great  load  to  her.  It  pressed  on  one  too  weak 
to  bear  its  weight  and  yet  too  conscientious  to  throw  it  off, 
though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  melancholy  was  only  the 
reaction  of  her  nerves  from  the  mild  excitements  of  the 
night  before.  I  was  generally  with  her  during  some  por- 
tion of  this  forenoon  time,  reading  her  notes  and  answering 
13 


I 


Ptdi 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

them,  spealmig  for  her  at  the  telephone,  or  keeping  her 
«mpany  and  hstening  to  her  confidences  while  ste  nibbled 
wittout  appetite  at  a  bit  of  toast  and  sipped  her  tea 
To  put  matters  on  the  common  footing  I  said- 
•Is  there  wiything  you'd  like  me  to  do,  Mrs.  Rossiter?" 

ttrough  half^losed  hps,  as  if  mere  speech  was  more  tha.^ 
she  was  equal  to:  "And  just  when  we  were  getting  on  so 
weU-and  the  way  Gladys  adores  you— "      ^       ^       '" 

"And  the  way  I  adore  Gladys." 

"Oh,  well,  you  don't  spoil  the  chUd.  like  lUt  Miss 
ra._ps.     I  suppose  It's  your  sensible  EngHsh   bringing 

"Not  English."  I  interrupted. 

"Canadian  then.  It's  ahnost  the  same  thing."  She 
went  on  without  transition  of  tone:  "Mr.  Millinger  was 

ttqr  wouldn  t  keep  putting  him  next  to  me.  It  makes 
everythmg  look  so  pointed-especiaUy  with  Hany  Scott 
glowermg  at  me  from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  He 
haidly  spoke  to  Daisy  Burke,  whom  he'd  taken  in  I 
must  say  she  was  a  fright.    And  Mr.  MilUnger  so  impru- 

JrlL  ""."^l  ^"^^  ^'  J^  ^  h^  Bo^P  when 
he  comes  down  rom  New  Yorker  notice  something." 
Thaie  was  the  shghtest  dropping  of  the  soft  fluting  vdce 
as  she  continued:  "I've  never  pretended  to  love  Jim  Rossi- 
ter more  than  any  man  I've  ever  seen.  That  was  one  of 
papas  matches.  He's  a  bom  match-maker,  you  know 
just  as  he  s  a  bora  everything  else.  I  suppose  you  didn't 
think  of  that.    But  since  I  am  Jim's  wif^' 

M  I  was  the  confidante  of  what  she  called  her  affairs- 
a  rtle  for  which  I  was  qualified  by  residence  in  British 
gamson  towns-I  interposed  diplomaticaUy,  "But  so  long 
14 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

as  Mr.  Millinger  hasn't  said  anything,  not  any  mote  than 
Mr.  Scott — " 

"Oh,  if  I  were  to  allow  men  to  say  things,  where  should 
I  be?  You  can  go  far  with  a  man  without  letting  him 
come  to  that.  It's  something  I  should  think  you'd  have 
known— with  your  sensible  bringing  up— and  the  heaps  of 
men  you  had  there  in  HaUf  ax— and  I  suppose  at  Southsea 
and  Gibraltar,  too."  It  was  with  a  hint  of  L  Ipless  com- 
plaint that  she  added,  "Y- 1  remember  that  I  asked  you 
to  leave  him  alone,  now  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  I  remember— quite.  And  suppose  I  did— and  he 
didn't  leave  me  alone?" 

"Of  course  there's  that,  though  it  won't  have  any  efifect 
on  papa.  You  are  unusual,  you  know.  Only  one  man  in 
five  hundred  would  notice  it ;  but  there  always  is  that  man. 
It's  what  I  was  afraid  of  about  Hugh  from  the  first. 
You're  different— and  it's  the  sort  of  thing  he'd  see." 
"Different  from,  what?"  I  asked,  with  natural  curiosity. 
Her  reply  was  indirect. 

"Oh,  well,  we  Americans  have  specialized  too  much  on 
the  girl.    You're  not  half  as  good-looking  as  plenty  of 
other  girls  in  Newport,  and  when  it  comes  to  dress—" 
"Oh,  I'm  not  in  their  class,  I  know." 
"No;  it's  what  you  seem  not  to  know.    You  aren't  in 
their  class— but  it  doesn't  seem  to  matter.    If  it  does 
matter,  it's  rather  to  your  advantage." 
"I'm  afraid  I  don't  see  that." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  You're  not  sufficiently  subtle. 
You're  really  not  subtle  at  aU,  in  the  way  an  American  girl 
would  be."  She  picked  up  the  thread  she  had  dropped. 
"The  fact  is  we've  specialized  so  much  on  the  girl  that  our 
girls  are  too  aware  of  themselves  to  be  wholly  human. 
They're  like  things  wound  up  to  talk  well  and  dress  weU 
IS 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

and  exhibit  themselves  to  advantage  and  calculate  their 
effects-and  lack  character.    We've  developed  the  very 
highKt  thing  in  exquisite  girl^nechanic^-a  work  of  art 
thathaseveiythingbutasoul."    She  turned  half  round 
to  whoe  I  stood  respectfully,  my  hands  resting  on  the 
bade  of  an  easy-chair.    She  was  lovely  and  pathetic  and 
judicial  all  at  once.    "The  difference  about  you  is  that 
you  seem  to  spring  right  up  out  of  the  soU  where  you're 
standing-^ust  like  an  English  country  house.    You  be- 
long to  your  background.    Our  girls  don't.    They're  too 
beautiful  for  their  background,  too  expensive,  too  pre 
duced.    Take  any  group  of  girls  here  in  Newport-they're 
no  more  m  place  in  this  down-at-the-heel  old  town  than 
a  flock  of  parrakeets  in  a  New  England  wood.    It's  really 
inartistic,  though  we  don't  know"  it.    You're  more  of  a 
woman  and  less  of  a  lovely  figurine.    But  that  won't 
apped  to  papa.    He  likes  figurines.    Most  American 
men  do.    Hugh  is  an  exception,  and  I  was  afraid  he'd  see 
m^  just  what  I've  seen  myself.    But  it  won't  go  down 

''Ji  it  goes  down  with  Hugh—"  I  began,  meekly. 
Papa  IS  a  bom  match-maker,  which  I  don't  suppose 
you  know.  He  made  my  match  and  he  made  Jack's  Oh 
'^I'trr''^-  ^^t"^^  ""'""^  ^  ^y-  ^^  I  «>PPOse  Hugh 
Ti^  '."  **"'  '°"^  ™""  ^  '^ted  to  speak,  but  she 
tmkled  gently  on :  "  Papa  has  his  designs  for  him,  which  I 

T4  ^.^f^J^^  y°"  ^*  °"«'-  He  means  him  to  marry 
I.-:  iy  Cissie  Boscobel.  She's  Lord  Goldborough's  daugh- 
tar,  and  papa  and  he  are  very  intimate.  Papa  knew  him 
when  we  hved  in  England  before  grandpapa  died.  Papa 
has  done  thmgs  for  him  in  the  American  money-market 
and  when  we  re  in  England  he  does  things  for  us.  Two  or 
three  of  our  men  have  married  earls'  daughters  during  the 

16 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

last  few  years,  aad  it  hasn't  turned  out  so  badly.  PapB 
doesn't  want  not  to  be  in  the  swim." 

"Does" — I  couldn't  pronounce  Hugh's  name  again — 
"does  your  brother  know  of  Mr.  Brokenshire's  inten- 
tions?" 

"Yes.  I  told  him  so.  I  told  him  when  I  began  to  see 
that  he  was  noticing  you." 

"And  may  I  ask  what  he  said?" 

"It  would  be  no  use  telling  you  that,  because,  whatever 
he  said,  he'd  have  to  do  as  papa  told  him  in  the  end." 

"But  suppose  he  doesn't?" 

"You  can't  suppose  he  doesn't.  He  wiH.  That's  all 
that  can  be  a. id  about  it."  She  turned  fully  round  on  me, 
gazing  at  me  with  the  largest  and  sweetest  and  tenderest 
eyes.  "As  for  you,  dear  Miss  Adare,"  she  murmured, 
sympathetically,  "when  papa  comes  to  see  you  this  after- 
noon, as  apparently  he  means  to  do,  he'll  grind  you  to 
powder.  If  there's  anything  smaller  than  powder  he'll 
grind  you  to  that.  After  he's  gone  we  sha'n't  be  able  to 
find  you.    You'll  be  dust." 


CHAPTER  n 


hm 


'  *  the  breakfast  loggia. 

nP^D™"!  f  ^""^  ^"^"^  ^^^  ^^  S^"*  l<»>«»d  toward 
f>±l,      w^"^""-    The  s<>caUed  breakfast  logSwas 
tWn  out  from  the  dining-room  in  the  directi^rf  fte 
sea.    Here  the  family  and  their  guests  could  gather  on 
waro  evenm^,  and  in  fine  weather  eat  in  the  open  air 
Paved  with  red  tJes,  it  was  furnished  with  a  long  oak  table 
ornately  carved,  and  some  heavy  old  oak  chairs  that  might 
have  anne  from  a  monastery.    Steamer  chain  and  widker 
e^-chau^  were  scattered  on  the  grass  outside.    On  the 
left  the  loggia  was  screened  from  the  neighboring  property 
UA    ^  °f/ambler  roses  that  now  ran  the  gamut  rf 
shades  from  cnmson  to  sea-shell  pink,  while  on  the  right  it 

Zr"^f  .u  ^r"  °^  ^  ^°  **"^  supporting  the 
^°^l^^l^^J':'^^^ehi^^otaowers.  The  house 
Itself  had  been  built  piecemeal,  and  was  now  a  low,  ram- 
bhng  succession  of  pavilions  or  ccrps  de  logis,  to  which  a 
sen«  o^  rose-colored  awnings  gave  the  only  unifying 

Just  now  it  was  a  house  deserted  by  every  one  but  the 
servants  and  myself .    Mrs.  Rossiter,  having  gone  out  to 

^^l  f^  ""^  "°*  *°  "**--•  "Teven  the 

^^  ^iT  ^*  ""^  *°  ^"^^  J^  Biokenshire,  on 

the  preteirt  of  playing  with  her  baby,  but  reaUy  to  be  out 

i8 


I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

oftheway.  Prom  Hugh  I  had  had  no  sign  of  life  smce  the 
previous  afternoon.  As  to  whether  his  father  was  comin;! 
as  his  enemy,  his  master,  or  his  interpreter  I  could  do 
nothuig  but  conjecture. 

But  as  far  as  I  could  I  kept  myself  from  conjecturing, 
holding  my  fa'^ties  in  suspense.  I  had  enough  to  do  in 
assurmg  myself  that  I  was  not  afraid— fundamentaUy 
SuperfidaUy  I  was  terrified.  I  should  have  been  terrified 
had  the  great  man  but  passed  me  in  the  hall  and  cast  a  look 
at  me.  He  had  passed  me  in  the  hall  on  occasions,  but  as 
he  had  never  cast  the  look  I  had  escaped.  He  had  struck 
me  then  as  a  master  of  that  art  of  seeing  without  seeing 
which  I  had  hitherto  thought  of  as  feminine.  Even  when 
he  stopped  and  spoke  to  Gladys  he  seemed  not  to  know 
that  I  occupied  the  ground  I  stood  on.  I  cannot  say  I 
enjoyed  this  treatment.  I  was  accustomed  to  being  seen. 
Moreover,  I  had  Uved  with  people  who  were  courteou-  to 
inferiors,  however  cavalier  with  equals.  The  great  J. 
Howard  was  neither  courteous  nor  cavalier  toward  me,  for 
the  reason  that  where  I  was  he  apparently  saw  nothing 
butavacuimi. 

Out  to  the  loggia  I  took  my  work-basket  and  some  sew- 
ing. Having  no  idea  from  which  of  the  several  approaches 
my  visitor  would  come  on  me,  I  drew  up  one  of  the  heavy 
aim-chairs  and  sat  facing  toward  the  sea.  With  the  basket 
on  the  table  beside  me  and  my  sewing  in  my  hands  I  felt 
indefinably  more  mistress  of  myself. 

It  was  a  still  afternoon  and  hot,  with  scarcely  a  sound 
but  the  pounding  of  the  surf  on  the  ledges  at  the  foot  of 
the  lawn.  Though  the  sky  was  blue  overhead,  a  dark  low 
bank  rose  out  of  the  horizon,  foretelling  a  chjmge  of  wind 
with  fog.  In  the  air  the  languorous  scent  of  roaes  and 
honeysuckle  mingled  with  the  acrid  tang  o€  the  ocewi. 
19 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  feh  •rtraordinanly  desolate.  Not  since  hearing  what 
the  lawyer  had  told  me  on  the  afternoon  of  my  father's 
funeral  had  I  seemed  so  entirely  alone.  The  fact  that  for 
nearly  twenty-four  hours  Hugh  had  got  no  word  to  me 
threw  me  back  upon  myself.  "You'll  be  made  to  fed 
alone,"  Mr.  Strangways  had  said  in  the  morning;  and  I 
was.  I  didn't  blame  Hugh.  I  had  purposely  left  the 
matter  in  such  a  way  that  there  was  nothing  he  could  say 
or  do  till  after  his  father  had  spoken.  He  was  probably 
waiting  impatiently;  I  had,  indeed,  no  doubt  about  that; 
but  the  fact  remained  that  I,  a  girl,  a  stranger,  in  a  certain 
sense  a  foreigner,  was  to  make  the  best  of  my  situation 
without  help.  J.  Howard  Brokershire  could  grind  me  to 
powder — when  he  had  gone  away  I  should  be  dust. 

"If  I  do  right,  nothing  but  right  can  come  of  it." 

The  maxim  was  my  only  comfort.  By  sheer  force  Ot 
repeating  it  I  got  strength  to  thread  my  needle  and  go  on 
with  my  seam,  till  on  the  stroke  of  three  the  dread  per- 
sonage appeared. 

I  saw  htm  from  the  minute  he  mounted  the  steps  that 
led  up  from  the  Clifi  Walk  to  Mr.  Rossiter's  lawn.  He  was 
accompanied  by  Mrs.  Brokenshire,  while  a  pair  of  grey- 
hounds followed  them.  Having  reached  the  lawn,  they 
crossed  it  diagonally  toward  the  loggia.  Because  of  the 
heat  and  the  up-hill  nature  of  the  way,  they  advanced 
slowly,  which  gave  me  leisure  to  observe. 

Mrs.  Brokenshire's  presence  had  almost  caused  my  heart 
to  stop  beating.  I  cotild  imagine  no  motive  for  her  coming 
but  one  I  refused  to  accept.  If  the  mission  was  to  be  un- 
friendly, she  surely  would  have  stayed  away;  but  that  it 
ccrAd  be  other  than  unfriendly  was  beyond  my  strength  to 
hope. 

I  had  never  seen  her  before  except  in  glimpses  or  at  a 
20 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


distance.  I  noticed  now  that  ihewu  a  little  thing,  loddng 
the  smaller  for  the  stalwart  siz>foot-two  beside  which  she 
walked.  She  was  in  white  and  carried  a  white  parasol.  I 
saw  that  her  face  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  features 
and  finish  I  had  ever  looked  into.  Each  trait  was  quite 
amazingly  perfect.  The  oval  was  perfect;  the  coloring 
vras  perfect;  mouth  and  nose  and  forehead  might  have 
been  made  to  a  measured  scale.  The  finger  of  personified 
Art  could  have  drawn  nothing  more  exquisite  than  the  arch 
of  the  eyebrows,  or  more  delicately  fringed  than  the  lids. 
It  might  have  been  a  doll's  face,  or  the  face  for  the  cover 
of  an  American  magazine,  had  it  not  been  saved  by  some- 
thing I  hadn't  the  time  to  analyze,  though  I  was  later  to 
know  what  it  was. 

As  for  him,  he  was  as  perfect  in  his  way  as  she  in  hers. 
When  I  say  that  he  wore  white  shoes,  white-duck  trousers, 
a  navy-blue  jacket,  and  a  yachting-cap  I  give  no  idea  of 
the  something  noble  in  his  personality.  He  might  have 
been  one  of  the  more  ornamental  Italian  princes  of  im- 
memorial lineage.  A  Jove  with  a  Vandyke  beard  one 
could  have  called  him,  and  if  you  add  to  that  the  concep- 
tion of  Jovo  ti-j  Thtmderer,  Jove  with  the  look  that  could 
strike  a  man  dead,  perhaps  the  description  would  be  as 
good  as  any.  He  was  straight  and  held  his  head  high. 
He  walked  with  a  firm  setting  of  his  feet  that  impressed 
you  with  the  fact  that  some  one  jf  importance  was  coming. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  speak  of  this  man  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  ordinary  member  of  the  public.  Of  that  1 
know  next  to  nothing.  I  was  dimly  aware  that  his  wealth 
and  his  business  interests  made  him  something  of  a  public 
character;  but  apart  from  having  heard  him  mentioned  as 
a  financier  I  could  hardly  have  told  what  his  profession 
was.    So,  too,  with  questions  of  morals.    I  have  been 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

pn^t  when,  by  hinU  rather  than  actual  words,  he  was 
faitroduced  a»a  profligate  and  a  hypocrite;  and  I  have  also 
known  people  of  good  judgment  who  upheld  him  both  as 
man  and  as  dtiren.  On  this  subject  no  opinion  of  mine 
.rouJd  be  worth  giving.  I  have  always  relegated  the  mat- 
ter into  that  limbo  of  disputed  facts  with  which  I  have 
nothing  to  do.  I  write  of  him  only  as  I  saw  him  in  daily 
Me,  or  at  least  in  direct  intercoune,  and  with  that  my 
tMtimony  must  end.  Other  people  have  been  curious 
with  regard  to  those  aspects  of  his  character  on  which  I 
«n  throw  no  light.  To  me  he  became  interesting  chiefly 
berause  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  from  a  kind  of  ntave 
audacity,  perhaps  an  unthinking  audacity,  don't  hesitate 
to  play  the  part  of  the  Almighty. 

When  they  drew  near  enough  to  the  loggia  I  stood  up, 
my  sewmg  in  my  hand.  The  two  greyhounds,  who  had 
outdistanced  them,  came  sniffing  to  the  threshold  and 
stared  at  me.  I  felt  myself  an  object  to  be  stared  at 
ttough  I  had  taken  pains  with  my  appearance  and  knew 
that  I  was  neat.  Neatness,  I  may  say  in  passing,  is  my 
strong  point.  Where  many  other  girls  can  stand  expen- 
^  (^-essing  I  am  at  my  best  when  meticulously  tidy 
TTie  shape  of  my  head  makes  the  simplest  styles  of  doing 
the  hair  the  most  distinguished.  My  figure  lends  itself 
to  country  clothes  and  the  tailor-made.  In  evening  dress 
I  can  wear  the  cheapest  and  flimsiest  thing,  so  long  as  it  is 
dependent  only  on  its  lines.  I  was  satisfied,  therefore, 
mth  the  way  I  looked,  and  when  I  say  I  felt  myself  an 
object  to  be  stared  at  I  speak  only  of  my  consciousness  of 
isolation. 

I  <annot  affirm,  however,  that  J.  Howard  Brokenshire 
stared  at  me.  He  stared;  but  only  at  the  general  eflEects 
m  which  I  was  a  mere  detail.    The  loggia  being  open  on 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

aU  sidM,  he  pauwd  for  half  a  second  to  take  it  and  ito  con- 
tenta  in.  I  went  with  the  contents.  I  looked  at  him; 
but  nothing  in  the  glance  he  cast  over  me  recognized  me  aa 
a  human  being.  I  might  have  been  the  table;  I  might 
iiave  been  the  floor;  for  him  I  was  hardly  in  existence. 

I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  stood  rnder  the  gaze  of  one 
who  considered  you  too  inferior  for  notice.  The  sensation 
is  quite  curious.  It  produces  not  humiliation  or  resent- 
ment so  much  as  an  odd  apathy.  You  sink  in  your  own 
sight;  you  go  down;  you  understand  that  abjection  of 
slaves  which  kept  them  from  rising  against  their  masters. 
Negatively  at  least  you  concede  the  right  that  so  treats 
you.  You  are  meek  and  humble  at  once ;  and  yet  you  can 
be  strong.  I  think  I  never  felt  so  strong  as  when  I  saw  that 
cold,  deep  eye,  which  was  steely  and  fierce  and  most  incon- 
sistently sympathetic  all  in  one  quick  fla-sh,  sweep  over  me 
and  pay  me  no  attention.  Ecce  Ftmina  I  might  have  been 
saying  to  myself,  as  a  pendant  in  expression  to  the  Ecce 
Homo  of  the  Pnetorium. 

He  moved  aside  punctiliously  at  the  lower  of  the  two 
steps  that  led  up  to  the  loggia  to  let  his  wife  precede  him. 
As  she  came  in  I  think  she  gave  me  a  salutation  that  was 
little  more  than  a  quiver  of  the  lids.  Having  closed  her 
parasol,  she  slipped  into  one  of  the  arm-chairs  not  far 
from  the  table. 

Now  that  he  was  at  close  quartets,  with  his  work  before 
him,  he  proceeded  to  the  task  at  once.  In  the  act  of 
laying  his  hat  and  stick  on  a  chair  he  began  with  the  ques- 
tion, "Your  name  is — ?" 

The  voice  had  a  crisp  gentleness  that  seemed  to  come 
from  the  effort  to  despatch  business  with  the  utmost 
celerity  and  spend  no  unnecessary  strength  on  words. 
The  fact  that  he  must  have  heard  my  name  from  Hugh  was 

3  n 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

plumlytoplaynopartfaourdwcuwon.  I  was  w  unutter- 
ably frightened  that  when  I  tried  to  whisper  the  word 
"Adare"  hardly  a  sound  came  forth. 

As  he  raised  hiniself  from  the  placing  of  his  c^  and 
stick  he  was  obliged  to  utter  a  sharp,  "What?" 
"Adare." 
"Oh,  Adare!" 

It  is  not  a  bad  name  as  names  go;  we  like  to  fancy  on^ 
selves  connected  with  the  famous  Fighting  Adaies  of  the 
County  Limerick;  but  on  J.  Howard  Brokenshiie's  lip« 
it  had  the  undiscriminating  commonness  of  Smith  or  Jones. 
I  had  never  been  ashamed  of  it  befoi*. 
"And  you're  one  of  my  daughter's—" 
"I'm  her  nursery  governess." 
"Sit  down." 

As  he  took  tho  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table  I  dropped 
again  into  that  at  the  side  from  which  I  had  risen.  It 
was  then  that  something  happened  which  left  me  for  a 
second  in  doubt  as  tc  whether  to  take  it  as  comic  or  catas- 
trophic.  His  left  eye  closed;  his  left  nostril  quivered; 
he  winked.  To  avoid  having  to  face  this  singular  phenom- 
enon a  secord  time  I  lowered  my  eyes  and  b^an  me- 
chanically to  sew. 
"Put  that  down!" 

I  placed  the  work  on  the  table  and  once  more  looked 
at  him.  The  striking  eyes  were  again  as  striking  as  ever. 
In  their  sympathetic  hardness  there  was  nothing  either 
ribald  or  jocose. 

I  suppose  my  scrutiny  annoyed  him,  though  I  was  un- 
conscious of  more  than  a  mute  asking  for  orders.  He 
pointed  to  a  distant  chair,  a  chair  in  a  comer,  just  within 
the  loggia  as  you  come  from  the  direction  of  the  dining- 
room. 

«4 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"»  there." 

1  know  now  that  his  wink  distressed  him.  It  was  some- 
thing  which  at  that  time  had  come  upon  him  recently,  and 
that  he  could  neither  control  nor  understand.  A  loss  im- 
podng  man,  a  man  to  whom  personal  impressiveness  was 
less  of  an  asset  in  daily  life  and  work,  would  probably 
have  been  less  disturbed  by  it;  but  to  J.  Howard  Broken- 
shire  it  was  a  trial  in  more  ways  than  one.  Curiously,  too, 
wh«i  the  left  eye  winked  the  right  grew  glassy  and  quite 
terrible. 

Not  knowing  that  he  was  sensitive  in  this  respect,  I  took 
my  retreat  to  the  comer  as  a  kind  of  symbolic  banishment. 
"Hadn't  I  better  stand  up?"  I  asked,  proudly,  when  f 
had  reached  my  chair. 
"Be  good  enough  to  s-t  down." 
I  seemed  to  fall  backward.    The  tone  had  the  eflfect  of 
a  shot.    If  I  had  ever  felt  small  and  foolish  in  my  life  it 
was  then.     I  flushed  to  my  darkest  crimson.    Angry  and 
humiliated,  I  was  obliged  to  rush  to  my  maxim  in  order 
not  to  flash  back  in  some  indignant  retort. 

And  then  another  thing  happened  of  which  I  was 
unable  at  the  minute  to  get  the  significance.  Mrs. 
Brokenshire  sprang  up  with  the  words: 

"  You're  quite  right,  Howard.  It's  ever  so  much  cooler 
over  here  by  the  edge.  I  never  felt  anything  so  stuffy  as 
the  r  -ddle  of  this  place.  It  doesn't  seem  possible  for 
air  to  get  into  it." 

While  speaking  she  moved  with  incomparable  dainti- 
ness to  a  chair  corresponding  to  mine  and  diagonally 
opposite.  With  the  length  and  width  of  the  loggia  be- 
tween us  we  exchanged  glances.  In  hers  she  seemed  to 
say,  "If  you  are  banished  I  shall  be  banished  too";  in 
mine  I  tried  to  express  gratitude.  And  yet  I  was  aware 
*S 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


"-oth  movement  «md 


that  I  might  have  misunderstood 
look  entirely. 

^^LH^l  surprise  was  in  the  worfs  Mr.  Bmkenshii* 
^^^  ^^T    "'  "^^^  ^  *^«  «'ft-  sightly  nasal 

t^  °^''^*  ^"^  '"^"^  ^  °°  ^'  business  asso^ 
the  effect  of  a  whip-lash.  ~.~ijaw3 

,  "We've  come  over  to  tell  you,  Miss-Miss  Adare,  how 
mua  we  appreciate  your  attitude  toward  our  boy  Hueh 
I  understand  frxan  him  that  he's  offered  to  marry  y;«,  ^d 

TtT^J"^  F"?^^^  '"  ^°"  '''"^*'°"  y°"'^e  declined. 
The  boy  .s  foolish,  as  you  evidently  see.    He  meant  noth- 

™  could  do  nottiing.  You're  probably  not  without 
expenence  of  a  smnlar  kind  among  the  sons  of  your 
other  employers  At  the  same  time,  as  you  doubtless 
expect,  we  sha'n't  let  you  suffer  by  your  prudence- 
It  was  a  bad  beginning.  Had  he  made  any  sort  of  ap- 
peal to  me,  however  unkindly  worded,  I  should  probab^ 
have  yielded.  But  the  tradition  of  the  Fighting  AdarS 
was  not  in  me  for  nothing,  and  after  a  smothering  s^ 
tion  which  rendered  me  speechless  I  managed  to  rtammer 

"Won't  you  allow  me  to  say  that—" 

The  way  in  which  his  large,  white,  handsome  hand  went 

wenT  m""^*  *°  ™^^  ^^°^  "^"  "^  ^^^  ^^  ^^^^ 
"In  order  that  you  may  not  be  annoyed  by  my  son's 
foUy  «  the  fiitur.  you  wiU  leave  my  daughte^s^y 
you  11  leave  Newport-you'U  be  well  advised.  inS  in 
going  back  to  your  own  country,  which  I  understand  to 
be  the  British  provmces.  You  wiU  lose  nothing,  however 
by  this  conduct,  as  I've  given  you  to  understand.  Three 
-four-five  thousand  doUars-I  think  five  ought  to  be 

suflicient— generous,  in  fact " 

a6 


■  to  inter-' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"But  I've  not  refused  him."  I  was  able  at  h> 
pose.    "I— I  mean  to  accept  him." 

Tha*  was  an  instant  of  stillness  6m  ng  which  or-o 
could  hear  the  poundmg  of  the  sea. 

y^T  *^*  ™^  ^^  5^  ''ant  me  to  i«se  ywir 

"No,  Mr.  Btokenshire.  I  have  no  price.  If  it  means 
anything  at  all  that  has  to  do  with  you,  it's  to  tell  you 
that  _I  m  mistress  of  my  acts  and  that  I  consider  your  son 
—he  s  twenty-six— to  be  master  of  his." 

Thete  was  a  continuation  of  the  stiUness.  His  voice 
when  he  spoke  was  the  gentlest  sound  I  had  ever  heard 
in  the  way  of  human  utterance.  If  it  were  not  for  the 
situation  It  could  have  been  considered  kind- 

"Anything  at  aU  that  has  to  do  with  me.?  You  seem 
to  attach  no  importance  to  the  fact  that  Hugh  is  my  son  " 

1  do  not  know  how  words  came  to  me.  They  seemed 
to  flow  from  my  Hps  independently  of  thought. 

"I  attach  importance  only  to  the  fact  that  he's  a  man 
Men  who  are  never  anything  but  their  father's  sons  aren't 

"And  yet  a  father  has  some  rights." 

"Yes,  sir;  some.  He  has  the  right  to  follow  whei*  his 
grown-up  children  lead.  He  hasn't  the  right  to  lead  and 
require  his  grown-up  children  to  follow  " 

He  shifted  his  ground.  'Tm  obliged  to  you  for  your 
opinion,  but  at  present  it's  not  to  the  point-" 

I  broke  in  breathlessly:  "Pardon  me,  sir;  it's  exactly  to 
the  point.  Im  a  woman;  Hugh's  a  man.  We're-we're 
m  tove  with  each  other;  it's  aU  we  have  to  be  concerned 

"Not  quite;  you've  got  to  be  concemed-with  me  » 
Which  is  what  I  deny." 

»7 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Oh,  denial  won't  do  you  any  good.  I  didn't  come  to 
hear  your  denials,  or  your  afiBimations,  either.  I've  oone 
to  tell  you  what  to  do." 
"But  if  I  know  that  already?" 
"That's  quite  possible— if  you  mean  to  play  your 
game  as  doubtless  you've  played  it  before.  I  only  want 
to  warn  you — " 

I  looked  toward  Mrs.  Brokenshire  for  help,  but  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  floor,  on  which  she  was  drawing 
what  seemed  like  a  design  with  the  tip  of  her  parasol. 
The  greyhounds  were  stretched  at  her  feet.  I  could  do 
nothing  but  speak  for  myself,  which  I  did  with  a  cahnness 
that  surprised  me. 

"Mr.  Brokenshire,"  I  interrupted,  "you  are  a  man 
and  I'm  a  woman.  What's  more,  you're  a  strong  man, 
while  I'm  a  woman  with  no  protection  at  all.  I  ask  you 
—do  you  think  you're  playing  a  man's  part  in  insulting 
me?" 

His  tone  grew  kind  ahnost  to  affection.  "My  dear 
young  lady,  you  misunderstand  me.  Insult  couldn't  be 
fiu1;her  from  my  thoughts.  I'm  speaking  entirely  for 
your  own  sake.  You're  young;  you're  very  pretty;  I 
won't  say  you've  no  knowledge  of  the  world  because  I 
see  you  have — " 

"I've  a  good  deal  of  knowledge  of  the  world." 

"Only  not  such  knowledge  as  would  warrant  you  in 
pitting  yoturself  against  me." 

"But  I  don't.    If  you'd  leave  me  alone — " 

"Let  us  keep  to  what  we're  taUdag  of.    I'm  sorry  for 
you;    I  really  am.    You're  at  the  beginning  of  what 
might  euphemistically— do  you  know  the  meaning  of  the   I 
word?— be  called  a  career.    I  should  like  to  save  you  from  I 
it;  that's  all.    It's  why  I'm  speaking  to  you  very  plainly 

38 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

every  fami'y  of  thJlT  Pf°**™*°«'  believe  me.    Nearly 

^d  young  women  of-what  ^To^ZZlT'  T' 
young  women  who  mean  to  do  the^t  Zt       ^  '^^•~ 
selve^let  us  put  it  in  that  way-"         ^  ^  ^°'  '^- 
I  m  a  gentleman's  daughter  "  r  k,„i     • 
He  smiled     "nt, ,  ,         ^  ^^^ol^e  m,  weakly. 

N...iste.LX^--£'-£men.daug^^. 

in  cilTda^'^  "^  *^  ^°"  "-* -^  father  was  a  iudge 
;;The  detail  doesn't  interest  me." 
^o,  but  It  interests  mo     t+    • 
equal  to-"        '^'^  ««•    I*  g>ves  me  a  sense  of  being 

;;K  you  please!    We'll  not  go  into  that  " 

let  me  tell^  Xol  J..^'""  ^  ^^  «"^''  ^ou  -st 

th:itT;srrLde^r<a""or"^,«««^-  ^* 

the  fact—"  ™aerstood.    Once  you've  accepted 

.' TW,V"Jr^^«*Pt  it  from  Hugh  himself  " 
That  s  foohsh.    Hugh  will  do  as  I  tell  hL  " 
But  why  should  he  in  this  case.?"  ' 

-tt'L  i^fdeirui'iyis-yt:'''^-  ^^'-^ 

working  for  that,  don't  yof^^'^^°7°«terest.     ^'^ 

thing  about  me  I  could  1,';:^^  ^°"  <^°°'*  ^°-  -y 
■Oh,butwedolcnowsomethingaboutyo«.    Weknow. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

{or  example,  since  you  compel  me  to  say  it,  that  you're 
a  httle  penon  of  no  importance  whatever." 
"  My  family  is  one  of  the  best  in  Canada  " 
"And  admitting  that  that's  so,- who  would  care  what 
c(Mistituted  a  good  family  in  Canada?  To  us  here  it 
m«ms  nothing;  in  England  it  would  mean  still  less.  I've 
liad  opportunities  of  judging  how  Canadians  are  regarded 
m  England,  and  I  assure  you  it's  nothing  to  make  you 
proud."  ' 

Of  the  several  things  he  had  said  to  sting  me  I  was  most 
sensitive  to  this.  I,  too,  had  had  opportunities  of  judg- 
mg,  and  knew  that  if  anything  could  make  one  ashamed  of 
being  a  Bntish  colonial  of  any  kind  it  would  be  British 
opmion  of  colonials. 

"My  father  used  to  say—" 

He  put  up  his  large,  white  hand.  "Another  time  Let 
us  keep  to  the  subject  before  us." 

I  omitted  the  mention  of  my  father  to  insist  on  a  theory 
as  to  which  I  had  often  heard  him  express  himself-   "If 
It  s  part  of  the  subject  before  us  that  I'm  a  Canadian  and 
that  Canadians  are  ground  between  the  upper  and  lower 
mmstones  of  both  EngHsh  and  American  contempt-" 
Isn  t  that  another  digression?" 
"Not  reaUy,"  I  hurried  on,  determined  to  speak  "be- 
cause if  I'm  a  sufferer  by  it,  you  are,  too,  in  your  dWree 
.t  s  part  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  tradition  for  those  who  stay 
behind  to  despise  those  who  go  out  as  pioneers.    Theraa 
lias  always  done  it.    It  isn't  only  the  British  who've  de- 
spised  then-  colonists.    The  people  of  the  Eastern  States 
d^ised  those  who  went  out  and  peopled  the  Middle 
W«t;  those  m  the  Middle  West  despised  those  who  went 
fartha-  West."    I  was  still  quoting  my  father.    "It's 
somethmg  that  defies  reason  and  eludes  argument.    It's 
30 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

a  base  strain  in  the  blood.  It's  like  that  hierarchy  among 
servante  by  which  the  lady's  maid  disdains  the  cook,  and 
the  cook  disdains  the  kitchen-maid,  and  the  proudest  are 
those  who  ve  nothing  to  be  proud  of.  For  you  to  look 
dbwn  on  me  because  I'm  a  Canadian,  when  the  common- 
est of  Enghshmen,  with  precisely  the  same  justification, 
looks  down  on  you—"  >-«"u". 

"Dear  young  lady."  he  broke  h>,  soothingly,  "you're 
taUang  wildly.  You're  speaking  of  things  y^/toow 
nothmgabout^  Le*  us  get  back  to  what  we  began  with. 
My  son  has  offered  to  marry  you—" 

"He  didn't  offer  to  many  me.    He  asked  me-he 
b^ged  me— to  marry  him." 
'"Ths  way  of  putting  it  is  of  no  importance." 
'Ah,  but  it  is." 

"I  mean  that,  however  he  expressed  it— however  vou 
express  it— the  result  must  be  the  same." 

I  nerved  myself  to  look  at  him  steadily.  "I  mean  to 
acc^t  him.  When  he  asked  me  yesterday  I  said  I 
wouldn  t  give  him  either  a  Yes  or  a  No  till  I  knew  what 
^u^_  his  family  thought  of  it.    But  now  that  I  do 

■'You're  determined  to  try  the  impossible." 
It  won't  be  the  impossible  till  he  tells  me  so." 

He  seemed  for  a  second  or  two  to  study  me.     "Suppose 
I  ao^ted  you  as  what  you  say  you  are-^  a  young 
woman  of  good  antecedents  and  honorable  characte 
Would  you  still  persist  in  the  effort  to  foree  yourself  on 
a  famdy  that  didn't  want  you?"  y^-^seu  on 

I  confess  that  in  the  language  Mr.  Strangways  acd  I 

had  used  m  the  morning,  he  had  me  here  "on  the  hip  " 

To  iorce  m;.self  on  a  family  that  didn't  want  me  wo-jid 

nannally  have  been  the  last  of  my  desires.    But  I  -ras 

31 


II    !^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

fitting  nm  for  something  that  went  beyond  my  de«w»- 
^^  laiger-^miething  national,  as  I  conceived  of 
r^taonahty-something  human-though  I  couldn't  have 

d^LS  '"^' "  "^  '  '^'^'^'  °^y  ^  '^ 

"I  couldn't  stop  to  consider  a  family.    My  object 
wodd  be  to  marry  the  man  who  loved  m^l^d  whtTl 

"So  that  you'd  face  the  humiliation—" 
r,J-   '"'f^'^  ^  humffiation.  because  it  would  have 
^tto^^  to  do  wxth  me.    It  would  pass  into  another 

"It  wouldn't  be  another  sphere  to  him." 
'  I  should  tave  to  let  him  take  care  of  that.    It's  all  I 
can  manage  to  look  out  for  myself—" 
TWe  seemed  to  be  some  admiration  in  his  tone. 
Which  you  seem  marvelously  weU  fitted  to  do  " 
Thank  you." 
"In  fact    it;s  one  of  the  ways  in  which  you  betray 
yourself.    An  innocent  girl— "  ^ 

I  strained  forward  in  my  chair.     "Wouldn't  it  be  fair 
for  you  to  teU  me  what  you  mean  by  the  word  innocent?" 

I  mean  a  girl  who  has  no  special  ax  to  grind—" 
_   I  could  hear  my  foot  tapping  on  the  floor,  but  I  was  to 
mdignant  to  restrain  myself.     "Even  that  figure  of  speech 
leaves  too  much  to  the  imagination."  ^^ 

He  studied  me  again.    "You're  very  sharp  " 
■Don't  I  ne«d  to  be,"  I  demanded,  "with  an  enemy  of 
your  acumen?"  •' 

"But  I'm  not  your  enemy.    It's  what  you  don't  seem 

^J^\-    "^J""  ^"'°'^-    ^'^  *^«  f  ^^  y<«  out  of 
a  Mtuation  that  would  kiU  you  if  you  got  into  it  " 

I  thmk  I  laughed.    "Isn't  death  preferable  to  dis- 

3» 


It's  a 
But  I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

honor?"    I  saw  my  mistake  in  the  quickness  with  which 
Mrs.  Brokenshire  looked  up.    "There  are  more  kinds  of 
dishonor  than  one,"  I  explained,  loftUy,  "and  to  me  the 
blackest  would  be  in  allowing  you  to  (^ictate  to  me." 
"My  dear  young  woman,  I  dictate  to  men—" 
"Oh,  to  men!" 

"I  see!  You  presume  on  your  womanhood, 
common  American  expedient,  and  a  cheap  one. 
don't  stop  for  that." 

"You  may  not  stop  for  womanhood,  Mr.  Brokenshire; 
but  neither  does  womanhood  stop  for  you." 

He  rose  with  an  air  of  weary  patience.  "I'm  afraid 
we  sha'n't  gain  a-iytuing  by  talking  further--" 

"I'm  afraid  not."  I,  too,  rose,  advancing  to  the  table. 
We  confronted  each  other  across  it,  while  one  of  the  dogs 
came  nosing  to  his  master's  hand.  I  had  barely  the 
strength  to  gasp  on:  "We've  had  our  talk  and  you  see 
where  I  am.  I  ask  nothing  but  the  exercise  of  human 
Uberty— and  the  measure  of  respect  I  conceive  to  be  due 
to  every  one.  Surely  you,  an  American,  a  representative 
of  what  America  is  supposed  to  stand  for,  can't  think  of  it 
as  too  much." 

"If  America  is  supposed  to  stand  for  your  marrying 
my  son — " 

"America  stands,  so  I've  been  told  by  Americans,  for 
the  reasonable  freedom  of  the  individual.    If  Hugh  wants 
to  marry  me — " 
II  Hugh  will  marry  the  woman  I  approve  of." 
"Then  that  apparently  is  what  we  must  put  to  the 
test." 

I  was  now  so  near  to  tears  that  I  suppose  he  saw  an 
openmg  to  his  own  advantage.    Coming  round  the  table, 
he  stood  looking  down  at  me  with  that  expression  which 
33 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I«m^describe  as  sympathetic.    With  aU  the  dammt- 

that  about  hmx  which  left  you  with  a  lingering  suspicion 
^t  he  might  be  right.  It  was  the  man  who  3*^ 
nght  who  was  presently  sitting  easily  on  the  edge  rf  tto 
table,  so  that  his  face  was  on  a  levd  with  m^^S 
saymg  m  a  kindly  voice:  ' 

"Now  look  here!    Let's  be  reasonable.    I  don't  want 

Sfn^LuJh-"^-    ^'"-^^^^^^w  the  whole 
"I'm  not,"  I  declared,  hotly. 
"That's  generous;   but  I'm  speaking  of  myself     I'm 

my^r  ;ri*^^  -"""'^  "-^  -  Hugh,Sse  h'e^ 
my  son.  I U  absolve  you,  if  you  like,  because  you're  a 
stranger  and  a  girl,  and  consider  you  a  victim-'^ 

1  m  not  a  victim,"  I  insisted.     "I'm  only  a  human 
bemg.  askmg  for  a  human  being's  rights  " 

w£SS^:l?f^°^'--    "^^'^^^^    Who  knows 

;;i  do     That  is."  I  corrected,  "I  know  my  own." 

nw„  •  ,?/^°^'  One  always  knows  one's  own.  One's 
own  nghts  are  ev«ything  one  can  get.  Now  you  St 
get  Hugh;  but  you  can  get  five  thousand  dolla,^  1^.3 
a  lo  of  money.  There  are  men  all  over  the  United  States 
^d  cut  off  a  hand  for  it.  You  won't  haveTol'S: 
W     You  orfy  need  to  be  a  good,  sensible  little  girl  and 

i2l  V  -f  *"P'  ^'  '^"^^^  I  ^^  yieldingfLr^e 
tapped  his  side  pocket  as  he  went  on  speaking     "it 

My  work  was  lying  on  the  table  a  few  inches  away 
34 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Leaning  forwaid  deliberately  I  put  it  into  the  basket, 
which  I  tucked  under  my  arm.  I  looked  at  M^^.  Broken- 
shire,  who  was  leaning  forward  and  looking  at  me.  I 
inclined  my  head  with  a  slight  salutation,  to  which  she 
did  not  respond,  and  turned  away.  Of  bin;  I  took  no 
notice. 
"So  it's  war."      . 

I  was  half-way  to  the  dining-room  when  I  heard  him 
say  that.  As  I  paused  to  look  back  he  was  still  sitting 
sidcwise  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  s\singing  a  leg  and 
staring  after  me. 

"No,  sir,"  I  said,  quietly.  "It  takes  two  to  fight,  and 
I  should  never  think  of  being  one." 

"You  know,  of  course,  that  I  shall  have  no  mercy  on 
you." 
"No,  sir;  I  don't." 

"Then  you  can  know  it  now.  I'm  sorry  for  you;  but 
I  can't  afford  to  spare  you.  Bigger  things  than  you  have 
come  in  my  way — and  have  been  blasted." 

Mrs.  Erokenshire  made  a  quick  little  movement  be- 
hind his  back.    It  told  me  nothing  I  ui,  icrstood  then, 
though  I  was  able  to  interpret  it  later.    I  could  only  say, 
in  a  voice  that  shook  with  the  shaking  of  my  whole  body: 
"You  couldn't  blast  me,  sir,  because — ^because — " 
"Yes?    Because— what?    I  should  like  to  know." 
There  was  a  robin  hopping  on  the  lawn  outside  and  I 
pointed  to  it.     "You  couldn't  blast  a  Uttie  bird  like  that 
with  a  bombshell." 
"Oh,  birds  have  been  shot." 
Yes,  sir ;  with  a  fowling-piece ;  but  not  with  a  howitzer. 
The  one  is  too  big;  the  other  is  too  small." 

I  was  about  to  drop  him  a  little  courtesy  when  I  saw 
hin?  wink.    It  was  a  grotesque,  amusing  wink  that  quiv- 
35 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

wed  and  twirtedtai  it  finaUy  dosed  the  left  ey.      M  he 

^"z:^.  "^"^ "-  ^^  ^^  -<^^  ^^ 

I  made  my  courtesy  the  deeper,  bending  my  head  and 
lowermg  my  eyes  so  as  to  spare  him  the  knowledge  that 


CHAPTER  III 


"  ITE  attacked  my  cotmtiy.    I  think  I  could  fotpva 

1  1  him  everything  but  that." 

It  was  an  hour  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brokenshire  had 
left  me.  I  was  half  crying  by  this  time— that  is,  half 
crying  in  the  way  one  cries  from  rage,  and  yet  laughing 
nervously,  in  flashes,  at  the  same  time.  From  the  weak- 
ness of  sheer  excitement  I  had  dropped  to  one  of  the 
steps  leading  down  to  the  Cliff  Walk,  while  Larry  Strang- 
ways  leaned  on  the  stone  post.  I  had  met  him  there  as 
I  was  going  out  and  he  was  coming  toward  the  house. 
We  couldn't  but  stop  to  exchange  a  word,  especially  with 
his  knowledge  of  the  situation.  He  took  what  I  had  to 
say  with  the  light,  gleaming,  non-committal  smile  whicli 
he  brought  to  bear  on  everything.  I  was  glad  of  tiiat 
because  it  kept  him  detached.  I  didn't  want  him  any 
nearer  to  me  than  he  was. 

"Attacked  your  country?    Do  you  mean  England?" 

"No;  Canada.  England  is  my  grandmother;  but 
Canada's  my  mother.    He  said  you  all  despised  her," 

"Oh  no,  we  don't.  He  was  trying  to  put  something 
over  on  you." 

"Your  'No,  we  don't'  lacks  conviction;  but  I  don't 
mind  you.  I  shouldn't  mind  him  if  I  hadn't  seen  so 
much  of  it." 

"So  much  of  what?" 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Being  looked  down  upon  geographically.    Of  all  the 
yrm  of  being  proud,"  I  declared,  indignantly,  "that 
wmtA  depends  on  your  merely  accidental  position  with 
regard  to  land  and  water  strikes  me  as  the  most  poor- 
spmted.    I  can't  imagine  any  one  dragging  himself  down 
to  It  who  had  another  rag  of  a  reason  for  self-respect.    As 
a  matter  of  fact.  I  don't  beUeve  any  one  ever  does     The 
people  I've  heard  express  themselves  on  the  subject--weU 
JTl  give  you  an  illustration:  There  was  a  woman  at  Gib- 
raltat— a  major's  wife,  a  big,  red-faced  woman.    Her 
name  was  Arbuthnot-her  father  was  a  dean  or  something 
—a  big.  red-faced  woman,  with  one  of  those  screechy 
twangy  English  voices  that  cut  you  like  a  saw— you  know 
there  are  some-a  good  many-and  they  don't  know  it. 
Well,  she  was  saying  something  sneering  about  Canadians 
I  was  sittmg  opposite— it  was  at  a  dinner-party— and  so 
I  leaned  across  the  table  and  asked  her  why  she  didn't 
like  them.    She  said  coloiuals  were  such  dreadful  fonn. 
I  held  her  with  my  eye  "-I  showed  him  how— "  and  made 
myself  small  and  demure  as  I  said,  'But.  dear  lady  how 
clev«-  of  you!    Who  would  ever  have  supposed  that 
you  d  know  that?'    My  sister  Vic  pitched  into  me  about 
It  after  we  got  home.    She  said  the  Arbuthnot  person 
didn  t  understand  what  I  meant-nor  any  one  else  at  the 
table,  they're  so  awfully  thick-sWnned-and  that  it's 
better  to  let  them  alone.    But  that's  the  kind  of  person 
who — 

He  tried  to  comfort  me.  "They'll  come  round  in  time. 
One  of  these  days  England  will  see  what  she  owes  to  her 
colonists  and  do  them  justice." 

"Never!"  I  declared,  vehemently.  "It  will  be  al- 
ways the  same-till  we  knock  the  Empire  to  pieces. 
Thentheyllresoectus.  Look  at  the  Boer  War.  Didn't 
38 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

our  m«  sacrifice  everything  to  go  out  that  long  distanca 
—and  win  battles— and  lay  down  their  lives-only  to 
hav«  the  English  say  afterward-especiaUy  the  anny 
people— that  they  were  more  trouble  than  they  wer« 
worth?    It  wiU  be  always  the  same.    When  we've  given 
our  last  penny  and  shed  our  last  drop  of  blood  theyH 
still  teU  us  we've  been  nothing  but  a  nuisance.    You 
may  live  to  see  it  and  remember  that  I  said  so.    If  when 
Shakespeare  wrote  that  it's  sharper  than  a  serpent's 
tooth  to  have  a  thankless  child  he'd  gone  on  to  add 
that  It's  the  very  dickens  to  have  a  picturesque,  self- 
satisfied  old  grandmother  who  thinks  her  children's  chil- 
dren should  give  her  everything  and  take  kicks  instead 
of  ha'pence  for  their  pay,  he'd  have  been  up  to  date. 
Mmd  you,  we  don't  object  to  giving  our  last  penny  and 
shedding  our  last  drop  of  blood;   we  only  hate  being 
abused  and  sneered  at  for  doing  it." 
I  wanned  to  my  subject  as  I  dabbed  fiereely  at  my  eyes. 
1 11  teU  you  what  the  typical  John  Bull  is  like.    He's 
like  those  men— big,  flabby  men  they  generally  are— who'll 
be  brutes  to  you  so  long  as  you're  dvil  to  them,  but  wiU 
dmib  down  the  minute  you  begin  to  hit  back.    Look  at 
the  way  they  treat  you  Americans!    They  can't  do  enough 
for  you— because  you  snap  your  fingers  in  their  faces  and 
•how  them  you  don't  care  a  hang  about  them.    They 
come  over  here,  and  give  you  lectures,  and  marry  your- 
girls,  and  pocket  your  money,  and  adopt  your  bad  form, 
as  delightful  originality— and  respect   you.    Now  that 
earls'  daughters  are  beginning  to  cast  an  eye  on  your 
milhonaire»-Mrs.  Rossiter  told  me  that— they  won't 
leave  you  a  rag  to  your  back.    But  with  us  who've  been 
faithful  and  loyal  they're  all  the  other  way.    I  can  hardly 
tdl  you  the  small  pin-pricking  indignities  to  which  my 
*  39 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


£?!wM,^  ^"^  ^  '«t'J«^  f°r  being  Canadians. 
And  theyU  never  change.    It  wiU  never  be^^ZT 

2"  It  3^  ^"^  our  bodies  to  be  burned,  as  the  Bible 
^H  f  u  ^  °*'^''  '^  othemise-not  tiU  we  imitate  you 
a^^st^^^th^n^thefa..    r^  you W  how S^.'^ 

He  stm  smiled,  with  an  aloofness  in  which  there  was  a 
a'TuetM^^^-    "^^-^'^-tbatyouw^rch" 

"I'm  not  a  rebel.    I'm  loyal  to  the  King.    That  is 
Im  loyal  to  the  great  Anglc^Saxon  ideal  of  wwS  tS 

as  any  other,  especially  as  he's  already  there.  The  En^ 
1^  are  only  partly  Anglo^on.  'LorandNo^" 
«>d  Dane  are  they '-^dn't  Temiyson  say  thatr^^ 

S-T.^  '°c  '^'''  ^°^^'  ^d  ^  ^°t  that^  Dane  Zfl 
lot  that's  Scotch  and  Irish  and  rag-tag  in  thZ     But 

^t:"  r,f  ""^  "^^  ^  Anglo!lxo1  ide^r'so  to 
bloods-and  just  as  we  shall  be  ourselves.    It's  lil^ 

Z^w'^'fC  '*■'  "^'  ^^  ^  *^«  Christian  r^i^s 
the  thing  that  saves,  and  I'm  loyal  to  that  Myt^„ 
-sed  to  say  that  it's  the  fact  that  EngUsh  ^d  S^ 
and  Austohans  are  aU  devoted  to  the  same  prin^S 
^olds  us  together  as  an  Empire,  and  not  the  subs^^S 
^di^ant  lan,k  to  a  Parhament  sitting  at  Wes^^ 
And  so  It  IS.    We  don't  always  like  each  other;  but  t^t 

WM  sick."    I  ihall  hoin>v»r  h.  S.j  •»  r    ''^"*>     ""e°  «»  deril 
40 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

doesn't  natter.  What  does  matter  is  that  we  should 
betray  the  fact  that  we  don't  like  each  other  to  outsiders 
—and  so  give  them  a  handle  against  us." 

"You  mean  that  J.  Howard  should  be  m  a  position  to 
s^with  the  EngUsh  in  looking  down  on  you  as  a  Cana. 

"Yes,  and  that  the  English  should  give  him  that  posi- 
tion. He's  an  American  and  an  enemy— every  Ameri- 
^  IS  an  enemy  to  England  o«  fond.  Oh  yes,  he  is! 
You  needn't  deny  it !  It's  something  fundamental,  deep- 
er down  than  anything  you  understand.  Even  tho^e  cf 
you  who  like  England  are  hostile  to  her  at  heart  and  would 
be  glad  to  see  her  in  trouble.  So,  I  say,  he's  an  American 
and  M  enemy,  and  yet  they  hand  me,  their  child  and  their 
fnend,  over  to  him  to  be  trampled  on.  He's  had  oppor- 
tumties  of  judging  how  Canadians  are  regarded  in  Eng- 
ird, he  says-and  he  assures  me  it's  nothing  to  be  proud 
of.  Ihat's  It.  I've  had  opportunities  too— and  I  have 
to  admit  that  he's  right.  Don't  you  see?  That's  what 
rarages  me.  As  far  as  their  liking  us  and  our  not  liking 
them  is  concerned,  why,  it's  all  in  the  family.  So  long  as 
It's  kept  in  the  family  it's  like  the  pick  that  Louise  and 
Vic  have  always  had  on  me.  I'm  the  youngest  and  the 
plainest—" 

"Oh,  you're  the  plainest,  are  you?  What  on  earth  are 
they  like?" 

"They're  quite  good-looking,  and  they're  awfully  chic. 
But  that's  m  parentheses.  What  I  mean  is  that  they're 
always  hectoring  me  because  I'm  not  attractive—" 

"Really?" 

"I'm  not  fishing  for  c<Knpliments.  I'm  too  busy  and 
too  angry  for  that.  I  want  to  go  on  talking  about  what 
we're  talking  about." 

41 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


^«t  I  want  to  know  why  they  said  you  w«  «aat. 

J^Z^^w^^^.^^^^'^^^y^^-    What  they  hav, 
«^  IS  this,  and  It's  what  Mrs.  Rossiter  say^-^STt 

'■But  very  attractive  to  him?" 
"No;  she  didn't  say  that.    She  merely  admitted  tt,»f 
her  brother  Hugh  was  that  man-"  *^* 

he^Ln^^*^7^*^  ^"*^"8  I  ^«d  at  the  time 
hej^  t  said,  and  which  I  tried  to  ignore: 

He  s  the  man  in  that  five  htmdred-and  I  know  an 
other  m  another  five  hundred,  which  makes  ZTiTl 

?cS  oJTt,T  ''l^"  *°  '  ^^'^  P-enCwhen' 
you  think  of  aU  the  men  there  are  in  the  world  " 

As  he  had  never  hinted  at  anything  of  the  kind  before 

^Twr^r""' '.''**'*  "^''*-  I'n^ademeun. 
e^.    It  was  nothmg,  reaUy.    It  was  spoken  with  that 

^een  hmi  and  me-between  him  and^e^SreS 
that  was  senous-aad  yet  subconsciously  1^^  onl 
ftds  on  hearing  the  first  few  notes.  i/J,  o^ra  „  ^ 
^Phony,  of  that  arresting  phrase  which  is  to^^uo 

the  hMd  I  have  no  need  of  thee,  and  the  eye  sa^ths 
-methmgtolienose?  We've  got  samethi^ySen't 
got,  and  you've  got  something  we  haZ^^^t.    ^y 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

•ho*dda't  we  be  appreciative  towarf  each  other,  and 
make  our  cx^ge  with  mutual  respect  as  we  do  with 
trade  conunodities?" 

dl  ^'^P^^^^}y  to  urge  me  on  to  talk  that  he  saii 

I^ttw  r^?f^  "^'  ^""^  youCanadiaJ 
got  ttat  we  haven't?    Why,  we  could  buy  andseU  you." 

bon  toward  the  oviUzation  of  the  American  continent 
r!„  J^^  "ir^t-    I*  <=^  be  given;  it  can  be  inherited; 
It  can  be  caught;  but  it  can't  be  purchased  " 
Indeed?    What  is  this  elusive  endowment  ?" 

-and  I  can  t  tell  you  what  is  is.  Ever  since  I've  been 
hvmg  among  you  I've  felt  how  much  we  resemUe  S 
o^hatadifference.  I think-mind you^^y tS 
^^^\T^  m  is  a  sense  of  the  .<^  I  /„„f_ 
Weresmiplerthanyou;  and  less  intellectual;  andooorer 
rf  c«^;  and  less,  much  less,  self-analyti;a:  ^t" 
we  ve  got  a  knowledge  of  what's  what  that  yoi  Z£ 

x^TS;"  "f  T^-  NoneoftheBrokenSiTw 
?(^^  'f-  f^  ^^  I  '^^  ^.  none  of  their  friS  • 
Tli^  command  It  with  money,  and  the  difference  isTke 

pv^  them  the  air  of  bemg-I'm  using  Mrs   Rossiter'a 

S^  Ij^r'"^^'^  -«  cLadianfr^ 
^uced.  We  just  com*-4mt  we  come  the  right  wav-f 
mttout  any  hooting  or  tooting  or  beating  of  tbp^J^ 

about  .t.  Let  me  make  an  example  of  what  Mrs.  Rossit^ 
was  discussmg  this  morning.  There  are  lots  of  SS 
gufem  my  country-as  many  to  the  hundred  as  you'^SS 

wed  ordered  a  speaal-brand  from  the  Creator.    We 
43 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

»ow  them  as  you  grow  ftewen  in  a  garden,  at  themerw 
of  the  au- and  sunshine.    You  grow  yours  like  ph^ 

-aon  t  think  I'm  bragging—"  ^^ 

He  laughed  aloud.    "Ohnol" 

tJ^"";  i^  "°*'."  ^  ^'''^^-  "Yo«  asked  me  a  que*. 
Jon  and  I'm  trymg  to  answer  it-^d  inddentauT  to 

question^  You've  got  lots  to  ofiEer  us,  and  many  of  ™ 
«»ne  and  take  it  thankfully.  What  we  can  offer  to  y^ 
.sampler  and  healthier  and  less  self-oonsdous  st^<S 

about  xt  at  all,  if  you  could  get  yourselves  down  to  that 
^  \r^^T  *°  ^  ^*^  °f  ^  everlasting  striv- 
^become.  You  won't  recognize  it  orlZ  it.  rf 
^.  No  one  ever  does.  Nations  seem  to  me  insane. 
Md  ruled  by  msane  governments.    Don't  the  English 

IVMch  the  A«stnans.  and  the  Austrians  the  Russians 
and  so  on?    Why  on  earth  should  the  foot  be  jeaWS 

thmgs-and  laughmg  at  me  all  the  while-^'m  off  t^ 
take  my  walk.  We'll  get  even  with  J.  Howard  and  ^ 
the  first-class  powers  some  day,  and  till  thea-^  revoir  " 

fhl  f  rrf  fj:^"*  *°  »>^  «°d  gone  some  paces  into 
the  fog  that  had  begun  to  blow  in  when  he  cauWto  m^ 
Waitammute.    I've  something  to  tell  you." 

I  turned,  without  going  back. 

"I'm — I'm  leaving." 

^wa^^amazed  that  I  retraced  a  step  or  two  toward 

His  smile  underwent  a  change.    It  grew  frozen  and 
steely  mstead  of  being  bright  with  a  continuous  play 
44 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

suggesting  summer  lightning,  which  had  been  its  usual 
quality. 

"My  time  is  up  at  the  end  of  the  month-and  I've 
asked  Mr.  Rossiter  not  to  ejcpect  me  to  go  on." 

I  was  looking  for  something  of  the  sort  sooner  or  later, 
I  but  now  that  it  had  come  I  saw  how  lonely  I  should  be. 
_  "Oh!  Where  are  you  going?  Have  you  got  anything 
m  particular?" 
''I|m  going  as  secretary  to  Stacy  Grainger." 
"I've  some  connection  with  that  name,"  I  said,  absent- 
ly,  'though  I  can't  remember  what  it  is." 

"You've  probably  heard  of  him.    He's  a  good  deal  in 
the  pubhc  eye." 

"Have  you  known  him  long?"  I  asked,  for  the  sake  of 
speakmg,  though  I  was  only  thinking  of  myself 
_  "Never  knew  him  at  all."  He  came  nearer'  to  me. 
I  ve  a  confession  to  make,  though  it  won't  be  of  interest 
to  you.  All  the  while  I've  been  here,  playing  with  Uttle 
Broke  Rossiter,  I've  been-don't  laugh— I've  been  con- 
tributing to  the  press— wot  qui  whs  parlet" 
"What  about?" 

"On,  politics  and  finance  and  foreign  policy  and  public 
thmgs  m  general.  Always  had  a  taste  that  way.  Now 
It  seems  that  something  I  wrote  for  the  Promdence  Express 
-people  read  it  a  good  deal— has  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  great  Stacy.  Yes,  te's  great,  too-J.  Howard's 
big  rival  for—" 

I  began  to  recall  something  I  had  heard.  "Wasn't 
tiiere  a  story  about  him  and  Mr.  Brokenshiie  and  Mrs 
Brokeushire?" 

"That's  the  man.  Well,  he's  noticed  my  stuff  and 
written  to  the  editor— and  to  me,  and  I'm  to  go  to 
him." 

45 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


IwM  Still  thinking  Of  myself  and  the  loss  of  h^s^ 
a"^-       I  hope  he's  going  to  pay  you  weU." 
Oh,  for  me  It  will  be  wealth  " 

fir^Uon'fsC^??''''^^*^*-    ''-^^^ 
He  nodded  confidently.    "I  hope  so  " 

the' ^n^  t  e"^  *"  """^ '^"^^ ''^  ^  ^P«^ - 

-c^s^o:!?^*'^^'^'  ^•'•^- 

If  I  laughed  a  little  it  was  to  conceal  my  discomfort  at 
this  abrupt  approach  to  the  intimate  •"*="'»*<«  ** 

"  v™  "tf*^^  T7  ^"^  "^^  °^*'"  I  ^d.  apologetically. 
You  see  my  father  was  one  of  those  poSTw 
Canadians  who  rather  overdo  the  thinVS  S 
^  should  have  been  Victoria,  because'  V^^ 
!?ZT    ^"\*^«D"^°fArgyUwasrSJr 

2  Sfi^Vf  r^.°^**  *°  ^^^-^^  ^«1  mothei^-and 
so  the  first  of  us  had  to  be  Louise.  He  couldn't  begin  on 
the  queens  tdl  there  was  a  second  one.  That's  poc^^ 
wkle  I^-I  know  you'll  shout-I'm  Ale^  li 
th«e'd  be^  a  fourth  she'd  have  been  a  Mai^^poor 
mother  died  and  the  series  stopped."  ^ 

He  shook  hands  rather  gravely.  "Then  I  shall  think 
of  you  as  Alexandra."  ^^  ^^ 

"If  ywi  are  going  to  think  of  me  at  all,"  I  managed  to 
^y.  with  a  httle^^.  ..put  me  down  «  A^TlSt? 
what  I've  always  been  called."  ' 


ii 


CHAPTER  IV 

T  WAS  glad  of  the  fog.  It  was  cool  and  refreshing;  it 
1  was  also  concealing.  I  could  tramp  along  under  its 
protection  with  Uttle  or  no  fear  of  being  seen.  Wearing 
tweeds,  thick  boots,  and  a  felt  hat,  I  was  prepared  for 
wet,  and  as  a  Canadian  girl  I  was  used  to  open  air  in  al' 
weath^.  The  few  stragglers  generally  to  be  seen  on 
the  ChflE  Walk  having  rushed  to  their  houses  for  shelter 
I  had  the  rocks  and  the  breakers,  the  honeysuckle  and 
the  patches  of  dog-roses,  to  myself.  In  the  back  of  my 
nund  I  was  fortified,  too,  by  the  knowledge  that  damp- 
ness curls  my  hair  into  pretty  Uttle  tendrils,  so  that  if 
I  did  meet  any  one  I  should  be  looking  at  my  best. 

The  path  is  like  no  other  in  the  world.  I  have  often 
WMidered  why  the  American  writer-up  of  picturesque  bits 
didnt  make  more  of  it.  Trouville  has  its  Plage,  and 
Bnghton  Its  King's  Road,  and  Nice  its  Promenade  des 
Anglais,  but  in  no  other  kingdom  of  leisure  that  I  know 
anything  about  will  you  find  the  combination  of  quaUties 
wild  and  subdued,  that  mark  this  ocean-front  of  Um 
island  of  Aquidneck.  Neither  will  you  easily  come  else- 
where so  near  to  a  sense  of  the  primitive  human  struggle 
^  the  crude  social  dash,  of  the  war  of  the  rights  of  man— 
Fisherman's  Rights,  as  this  coast  historicaUy  knows  them 
— agamst  encroachment,  privilege,  and  seclusion.  As 
you  crunch  the  gravel,  and  press  the  well-rolled  tuif,  and 
47 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

miff  the  scent  of  the  white  and  red  clover  and  Queen 
Anne's  lace  that  fringe  the  precipice  leaning  over  the 
sea,  you  feel  in  the  air  those  elements  of  conflict  that 
make  drama. 

In  clinging  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  in  twisting  round 
every  curve  of  the  shore  line,  in  running  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  under  crags  and  over  them,  the  path  is,  of  course, 
not  the  only  one  of  its  kind.    You  will  find  the  same 
thing  anywhere  on  the  south  coast  oi  England  or  the 
north  coast  of  Prance.    But  in  the  sum  of  human  interest 
it  sucks  into  the  three  miles  of  its  course  I  can  think  of 
nothing  else  that  resembles  it.    As  guaranteeing  the 
rights  of  the  fisherman  it  is,  so  I  believe,  inalienable  public 
property.    The  fisherman  can  walk  on  it,  sit  on  it,  fish 
from  it,  right  into  eternity.     So  much  he  has  secured 
from  the  past  history  of  colony  and  state;  but  he  has 
done  it  at  the  cost  of  making  himself  off ensive  to  the  gen- 
tlemra  whose  lawns  he  hems  as  a  seamstress  hems  a  skirt. 
It  is  a  hem  like  a  serpent,  with  a  serpent's  sinuosity 
and  grace,  but  also  with  a  serpent's  hatefutaess  to  those 
who  can  do  nothing  but  accept  it  as  a  fact.    Since,  as  a 
fact,  it  cannot  be  abolished  it  has  to  be  put  up  with;  and 
since  it  has  to  be  put  up  with  the  means  must  needs  be 
found  to  deal  with  it  effectively.    Effectively  it  has  been 
dealt  with.    Money,  skill,  and  imagination  have  been  spent 
on  it,  to  adorn  it,  or  disguise  it,  or  sink  it  out  of  sight. 
The  architect,  the  landscape  gardener,  and  the  engineer 
have  aU  been  called  into  counsel.    On  Fisherman's  Rights 
the  smile  and  the  frown  are  exercised  by  turns,  each  with 
its  phase  of  ingenuity.    Along  one  stretch  of  a  htindied 
yards  bland  recognition  borders  the  way  with  roses  or 
spans  the  miniature  chasms  with   decorative   bridges; 
along  the  next  shuddering  refinement  grows  a  hedge  or 
48 


THE   HIGH    HEART 

digi  a  trendi  behind  ^riiich  the  obtnudve  wayf anr  may 
psM  unseen.  But  shuddering  refinement  and  bland 
recognition  alike  withdraw  into  thanselves  as  far  as 
broad  lawns  and  lofty  terraces  permit  them  to  retke, 
leaving  to  the  owner  erf  Fisherman's  Rights  the  enjoy- 
ment of  ocher  and  umber  rocks  and  sea  and  sky  and  grain- 
fields  yellowing  on  far  headlands. 

It  gave  me  the  nearest  thing  to  glee  I  ever  felt  in  New- 
port.    It  was  bracing  and  open  and  free.    It  suggested 
comparisons  with  scrambles  along  Nova-Scotian  shores  or 
tramps  on  the  moors  in  Scotland.    I  often  hated  the  fine 
weather;  it  was  oppressive;  it  was  strangling.    But  a  day 
like  this,  with  its  whifis  of  wild  wind  and  its  handfuls 
of  salt  slashing  against  eyes  and  mouth  and  nostrils,  was 
not  only  exhilarating,  it  was  glorious.    I  was  glad,  too. 
that  the  prim  villas  and  pretentious  chateaux,  inost  of 
than  out  of  proportion  to  any  scale  of  housekeeping  of 
which  America  is  capable,  could  only  be  descried  like 
castles  in  a  dream  through  the  swirling,  diaphanous  drift. 
I  could  be  alone  to  rage  and  fume— or  fly  onward  with  a 
speed  that  was  in  itself  a  relief. 

I  could  be  alone  till,  on  climbing  the  slope  of  a  shorn 
and  wind-swept  bluff,  I  saw  a  squaie-shouldeied  figure 
looming  on  the  crest.  It  was  no  more  than  a  deepening 
of  the  texture-  of  the  fog,  but  I  knew  its  Hnes.  Skimming 
up  the  ascent  with  a  little  ay,  I  was  in  Hugh's  anns,  my 
head  on  his  burly  breast. 

I  think  it  was  his  burliness  that  made  the  most  definite 
appeal  to  me.  He  was  so  sturdy  and  strong,  and  I  was 
so  small  and  desolate.  From  the  beginning,  when  he  first 
used  to  come  near  me,  I  felt  his  presence,  as  the  Bible 
says,  like  the  shadow  of  a  rode  in  a  thirsty  land.  That 
was  in  my  early  homesick  time,  before  1  had  seized  the 
49 


r' 

,:B 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

new  way  o£  living  and  the  new  national  point  of  view. 
The  £act,  too,  that,  a*  I  expresied  it  to  myself,  I  wai  in 
the  Mcond  cabin  when  I  had  always  been  accustcmed  to 
the  first,  inspired  a  diaoomfort  for  which  unwittingly  I 
sought  consolation.  Nobody  thought  of  me  as  other 
than  Mrs.  Kostiter's  retainer,  but  this  one  kindly  ^mi, 

I  noticed  his  kindliness  ahnost  before  I  noticed  him, 
just  as,  I  think,  he  noticed  my  loneliness  ahnost  before  he 
noticed  me.  He  opened  doors  for  me  when  I  went  in 
or  out;  he  served  me  with  things  if  he  happened  to  be 
there  at  tea;  he  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  me  when  I 
was  the  only  member  of  a  group  whom  no  one  spoke  to. 
If  Gladys  was  of  the  company  I  was  of  it  too,  with  a 
nominal  footing  but  a  virtual  exclusion.  The  men  in  the 
Rossiter  ciicle  were  of  the  four  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
to  whom  I  wasn't  attractive;  the  women  were  all  civil — 
from  a  distance.  Occasionally  some  nice  old  lady  would 
ask  me  where  I  came  fitom  and  if  I  liked  my  work,  or 
talk  to  me  of  new  educational  methods  in  a  way  which, 
with  my  bringing  up,  was  to  me  as  so  much  Greek;  but 
I  never  got  any  other  sign  of  friendliness.  Only  this 
short,  stoddly  built  young  fellow,  with  the  small,  bhie 
eyes,  ever  recognized  me  as  a  human  being  with  the  aver- 
age yearning  for  human  intercourse. 

During  the  winter  in  New  York  he  never  went  further 
than  that.  I  remembered  Mrs.  Rossiter's  recommenda- 
tion and  "let  him  alone."  I  knew  how  to  do  it.  He  was 
not  the  first  man  I  had  ever  had  to  deal  with,  even  if 
no  one  had  asked  me  to  marry  him.  1  a  spted  his  small, 
kindly  acts  with  that  shade  of  discretion  which  defined 
the  distance  between  us.  As  far  as  I  could  observe,  he 
Wmself  had  no  disposition  to  cross  the  lines  I  set— not 
till  we  moved  to  Newport. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

There  wai  a  fortnight  between  our  gfuag  then  and  hi* 
—a  fortnight  which  seemed  to  worit  a  change  in  him. 
The  Hugh  Brokenshire  I  met  on  one  of  my  first  rambles 
along  the  cliffs  was  not  the  Hugh  Bn>kenahii«  I  had  last 
seen  in  Fifth  Avenue.  Perhaps  I  was  not  the  same  my- 
self. In  the  new  surroundings  I  had  missed  him— a  little. 
I  will  not  say  that  his  absence  had  meant  an  aching  void 
to  me;  but  where  I  had  had  a  friend,  now  I  had  none— 
•ince  I  was  unable  to  count  Lany  Strangways.  Had  it 
not  been  for  this  solitude  I  should  have  been  less  receptive 
to  his  comings  when  he  suddenly  began  to  pursue  me. 

Pnisuit  is  the  only  word  I  can  use.  I  found  him  every- 
where, quiet,  deliberate,  persistent.  If  he  had  been  ten 
or  even  five  yeara  older  I  could  have  taken  his  advances 
without  uneasiness.  But  he  was  only  twenty-six  and  a 
dependent.  He  had  no  work;  apart  from  his  allowance 
from  his  father  he  had  no  means.  And  yet  when,  on  the 
day  before  my  chronicle  begins,  he  stole  upon  me  as  I 
sat  in  a  sheltered  nook  below  the  cliffs  to  which  I  was 
fond  of  retreating  when  I  had  time— when  he  stole  upon 
me  there,  and  kissed  me  and  kissed  me  and  kissed  me,  I 
couldn't  help  confessing  that  I  loved  him. 

I  must  leave  to  some  woman  who  has  had  to  fend  for 
herself  the  task  of  telling  what  it  means  when  a  man 
comes  to  offer  her  his  heart  and  his  protection.  It  goes 
without  saying  that  it  means  more  to  her  than  to  the 
sheltered  woman,  for  it  means  things  different  and  more 
wtmderftj.  It  is  the  expected  unexpected  come  to  pass; 
it  is  the  impossible  achieved.  It  is  not  only  success;  it 
is  success  with  an  aureole  of  glory. 

I  suppose  I  must  be  parasitical  by  nature,  for  I  never 
have  conceived  of  life  as  other  than  dependent  on  some 
man  who  would  love  me  and  take  care  of  me.    Evenwhen 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

no  wch  man  ^>pMred  and  I  wai  forced  oat  to  Mm  my 
bread,  I  looked  t^ion  the  need  as  temporary  only.  In  the 
lonelieat  of  timet  at  Mrs.  Rossiter's,  at  periods  when  I 
didn't  see  a  man  for  weeks,  the  hero  never  seemed  farther 
away  than  just  behind  the  scenes.  I  confess  to  minutes 
when  I  thought  he  tarried  unnecessarily  long;  I  ccofesa 
to  terrified  questionings  as  to  what  would  h^>pen  were 
he  never  to  come  at  all;  I  confess  to  solitary  watches  of 
the  night  in  company  with  fears  and  tears;  but  I  cannot 
confess  to  anything  more  than  a  low  burning  cf  that  lamp 
of  hope  which  never  went  out  entirely. 

When,  therefore,  Hugh  Brokenshire  offered  me  what  he 
had  to  offer  me  I  felt  for  a  few  minutes— ten,  fifteen, 
twenty  perhaps— that  sense  of  the  fruition  of  the  being 
which  I  am  sure  comes  to  us  but  rarely  in  this  life,  and 
perhaps  is  a  foretaste  of  eternity.  I  was  like  a  creatui« 
that  has  long  been  struggling  up  to  some  higher  state — 
and  has  reached  it. 

I  am  ashamed  to  say,  too,  that  my  first  consciousness 
came  in  pictttres  to  which  the  dear  young  man  himself 
was  only  incidental.  Two  scenes  in  particular  that  far 
ten  years  past  had  been  only  a  little  below  the  threshold 
of  my  consciousness  came  out  boldly,  like  developed 
photographs.  I  was  the  center  of  both.  In  one  I  saw  a 
dainty  little  dining-room,  where  the  table  was  laid.  The 
danwsk  was  beautiful;  the  silver  rich;  the  glasses  crys- 
talline. Wearing  an  inexpensive  but  eirtremely  chic  little 
gown,  I  was  seating  the  guests.  The  other  picture  was 
more  dim,  but  only  in  the  sense  that  the  room  was  de- 
lidously  darkened.  It  had  white  furnishings,  a  little 
white  cot,  and  toys.  In  its  very  center  was  a  bassinet, 
and  I  was  leaning  over  it,  wearing  a  delicate  lace  peignoir. 
Ought  I  to  blush  to  say  that  while  Hugh  stammered 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Ottt  U.  ImpMdoned  dadMEtion.  I  wm  «emg  the«  two 
UblMux  tmer^ag  from  the  sute  of  only  h»lf-admowl- 
edgeddreaaa  into  real  poMibUity?  I  dare  say.  I  merely 
affinn  that  it  waa  M.  Since  the  dominant  craving  of  my 
nature  wai  to  have  a  home  and  a  baby,  I  saw  the  baby 
and  the  home  before  I  could  realize  a  husband  or  a  father 
or  bnng  my  mind  to  the  definite  proposals  faltered  by 
poor  Hugh.  ' 

But  I  did  bring  my  mind  to  them,  with  the  result  of 
whidi  I  have  ahtsady  given  a  sufficient  indication.  Even 
in  admitting  that  I  loved  him  I  thrust  and  parried  and 
postponed.  The  whole  idea  was  too  big  for  me  to  grapple 
wth  on  the  spur  of  a  sudden  moment.  I  suggested  his 
talking  the  matter  over  with  his  father  chiefly  to  gain 
time. 

But  to  rest  in  his  arms  had  only  a  subordinate  connec- 
tion with  the  great  issue  I  had  to  face.  It  was  a  joy  in 
Itself.  It  was  a  pledge  of  the  future,  even  if  I  were  never 
to  take  anything  but  the  pledge.  After  my  shifts  and 
•taiggles  and  anxieties  I  could  fed  the  satisfaction  of 
knowmg  it  was  in  my  power  to  let  them  aU  roU  off.  If  I 
were  never  to  do  it,  if  I  were  to  go  bade  to  my  unoer- 
tamties,  this  minute  would  mitigate  the  trial  in  advance 
I  might  fight  for  existence  during  all  the  rest  of  my  life 
and  yet  I  should  still  have  the  bliss  of  remembering  that 
some  one  was  willing  to  fight  for  me. 

He  rdeased  me  at  last,  since  there  might  be  people  in 
Newport  as  indifferent  to  weather  as  ourselves. 

"What  happened?"  he  asked  then,  with  an  eagerness 
which  almost  choked  the  question  in  its  utterance  "Was 
it  awful?" 

I  was  too  nearly  hysterical  to  enter  on  anything  like 
S3 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

a.  recital.  "It  might  have  been  worse,"  I  half  laughed 
and  half  sobbed,  trying  to  recover  my  breath  and  drv 
my  eyes.  ^ 

His  spirit  secuted  to  leap  at  the  answer.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  got  concessions  &om  him— or  anythine 
like  that?"  j"""^ 

^   I  couldn't  help  clinging  to  the  edge  of  his  raincoat 

Did  you  expect  me  to?" 

"I  didn't  know  but  what,  when  he  saw  you—" 

"Oh,  but  he  didn't  see  me.  That  was  part  of  the 
difficulty.  He  looked  where  I  was-but  he  didn't  find 
anjrthing  there." 

He  laughed,  with  a  hint  of  disappointment.     "I  know 
what  you  mean;  bat  you  mustn't  be  smpiised     He'll  see 
you  yet."    He  clasped  me  again.    "I  didn't  see  you  at 
first,  httle  girl;   I  swear  I  didn't.    You're  like  that     A 
fellow  must  look  at  you  twice  before  he  knows  that  you're 
there;  but  when  he  begins  to  take  notice—"    I  struggled 
out  of  his  embrace,  while  he  continued:  "It's  the  same 
with  all  the  great  things--with  pictures  and  mountains 
and  cathedrals,  and  so  on.    Often  thought  about  it  when 
we  ve  been  abroad.    See  something  once  and  pass  it  by 
Next  tame  you  look  at  it  a  Httle.    Third  time  it  b«ins 
to  grow  on  you.    Fourth  time  you've  found  a  wonder. 
You  re  a  wonder,  little  Ahx,  do  you  know  it?" 
"Oh  no,  I'm  not.    I  must  warn  you,  Hugh  darling, 

that  I  m  very  prosaic  and  practical  and  ordinary.    You 
mustn't  put  me  or.  a  pedestal—" 

"Put  you  on  a  pedestal?  You  were  bom  on  a  pedestal 
Ywi  re  the  woman  I've  seen  in  hopes  and  dreams—" 

We  began  to  walk  on,  coming  to  a  little  hollow  that 
*W»ed  near  enough  to  the  shore  to  allow  of  our  acram- 
Mmg  over  the  rocks  to  where  we  could  git  down  among 
54 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

tw'  r^'7'  ^^  here  below  the  thickest  h.n  ^ 
the  fog  hae,  I  could  see  him  in  a  wav  tw  ^  ^l  °* 
impossible  on  the  bluff     ^^  ""  *  ^y  *»»*  had  been 

-i""  m" '^°^1'*  "^  °^y  -  the  handsome-ugly 

a  statement  I  could^SfTfZ".^  «  "^^  °^  ^°^' 
^:s  portrait  rCaSj^  Hu^sf ".  ^"*"'- 
not  iU-formed  so  much  asl^weS  St^!r^^  '^ 
to  each  other  becom,-„»Tt,  ^*  °*  proportion 

st^  at  the  same  fine  ^gl   as  Sl^S's  "^  "^^^ 
nud-couise  to  a  knoh-  ti,«  .         T^  ^  *'  'Ranged  m 

long,  but  hS-way  t'itfdeSi!;^^  "^"^^  *°  he 
upward,  making  Vh^ST^^  ^\^  "°*'°"  t°  ««ve 

naustaclleSld^.t'jSm^tl^^  T'^'  *^ 
have  been  apphed  wiaTc^r  »,  •  ^^'^  ^*^  "^^ht 
lip  turned  ouS  S  a  SS^ft^t^  *?*=  *^*  ^"''^ 
in  a  little  faU  1^,^^  th.  2.^"^  ***  ^^^^  °^« 
lovably  good-;aS  *'°''  ^^<^  "^^Z 

thfSrSraSSnS^  ^^«-  -^  ^-Pe<i  on 
d^  tether  in^St're'— --S"£ 
«»  about  me  was  amazingly  protective.    I  fJtfe^ 

inSL^^:  2  srSnt?  -^  ^^«^^  -  -<• 

talked  somewCT  ^  ^''^  "^^  *at  they  had 

nurses  gov^rtf  Elr^^^r,  ^1f^'  "^^  ^"'« 
byrcadinealetterfrrJrrr^o  ,./^*^"  '^'^  responded 

^  It  ,0,04  be  „n  for  ,„  t.  .oo^t.i!  a.  ft.^^  ^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

mented,  as  he  folded  the  letter.    "I'ts  cabled  to  Gdd- 
boroiigh  to  say  you'd  sail  on — " 

"But,  father,  how  can  I  sail  when  I've  asked  Miss 
Adare  to  marry  me?" 

To  this  the  reply  was  the  mention  of  the  steamer  and 
the  date.  He  went  on  to  say,  however:  "  If  you've  asked 
any  one  to  marry  you  it's  absurd,  of  course.  But  I'll  take 
care  of  that.  If  you  go  by  that  boat  you'll  reach  London 
in  plenty  of  time  to  fit  out  at  your  tailor's  and  still  be  at 
Strath-na-Cloid  by  the  twelfth.  In  case  you're  short  of 
money — " 

Apparently  they  got  no  further  than  that.  To  Hugh's 
assertions  and  objections  his  father  had  but  one  response. 
It  was  a  response,  as  I  understood,  which  confhmted 
the  younger  man  like  a  wall  he  had  neither  the  force  to 
break  down  nor  the  agility  to  climb  over,  and  left  him 
staring  at  a  blank. 

Then  followed  another  outburst  which  to  my  unaccus- 
tomed ear  was  as  wild,  sweet  music.  It  wasn't  merely 
that  he  loved  me,  he  adored  me;  it  wasn't  merely  that 
I  was  young  and  pretty  and  captivating  with  a  dy,  un- 
obtrusive fascination  that  held  you  enchanted  when  it 
held  you  at  all.  I  was  mistress  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
ages.  Among  the  nice  expensively  dressed  young  girls 
with  whcan  he  danced  and  rode  and  swam  and  flirted, 
Hugh  had  never  seen  any  one  who  could  "hold  a  candle" 
to  me  in  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  the  world.  It 
wasn't  that  I  had  seen  more  than  they  or  done  more 
than  they;  it  was  that  I  had  a  mind  through  which  every 
impression  filtered  and  came  out  as  something  of  my 
own.  It  was  what  he  had  always  been  looking  for  in  a 
woman,  and  had  given  up  the  hope  of  finding.  He 
spoke  as  if  he  was  forty.    He  was  serious  himsdf,  he 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

«^:  te  had  reflected,  and  held  arig««l  convictions, 
rhough  a  nch  man's  son,  with  corresponding  prospects 
h«h^  was  with  the  masse,  aTK^l^  Sf a 

nlin^n  °°*  *''  ^e  tW  to  be  a  Socialist  now,  he  ex- 

^vmZ"'J"J  "^  "^  ^^'^^y  y--  befor;,lnTe 
so  many  men  of  education  and  position  had  adootrf  tw! 

^  of  opinion.  Infact.hisZconS:ft?b^ 
EmbLfwtC  Lord  En^est  Hayes,  of  th^nS 
tmba«y,  who  had  spent  the  preceding  summer  at  New- 

Ss^^e  W  Z^"""^  had  go„:  in  this  di^^n 
ever  smoe  he  had  begun  to  think.    It  was  hp«.,.c«  t 

«V  .r,A  ^^^  °°^^  «^^*  "«  <=«^t  f°>-  being  twentv- 

s«  and  a  man  "the  dear  boy  went  on  earnestly  '^^a 

Sfv^^  *•  «""  *^  I  ought  to  quit  being  a  S^i 
^t  bemuse  he  tells  me  tc^^  else  he  ^-t  ttoiS 

I  found  the  opportunity  for  which  I  had  been  looking 
A^nghisjmpassioned  rhapsody.  TTxe^eSx T^e 
Goldboroughs  gave  me  that  kind  of  chiU  about  ^L^ 

which  the  mist  imparted  to  the  hands  and  face 
57 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"You  know  them  an  very  wdl,"  I  said,  wben  I  ioaai 
an  opening  in  which  I  could  speak. 

"Oh  yes."  he  admitted,  indifferently.  "Known  them 
all  my  life.  Father  represented  Meek  &  Brokenshire  in 
England  till  my  grandfather  died.  Goldborough  used  to 
be  an  impecunious  chap,  land  poor,  till  he  and  father 
b^iaa  to  pull  together.  Father's  been  able  to  give  him 
tips  on  the  market,  and  he's  given  father^  Well,  dad's 
always  had  a  taste  for  English  swells.  Never  coidd  stand 
the  Continental  kind— gilt  gingerbread  he's  called  'em— 
and  so,  well,  you  can  see." 

I  admitted  that  I  could  see,  going  on  to  ask  what  the 
Goldborough  family  consisted  of. 

There  was  Lord  Leatherhead,  the  eldest  son;  then 
there  were  two  younger  sons,  one  in  the  army  and  one 
preparing  for  the  Church;  and  there  were  three  girls. 
"Any  of  the  daughters  married?"  I  ventured,  timidly. 
There  was  nothing  forced  in  the  indifference  with  which 
he  made  his  explanations.  Laura  was  married  to  a 
banker  named  Bell;  Janet,  he  thought  he  had  heard,  was 
engaged  to  a  chap  in  the  Inverness  Rangers;  Cecilia— 
Cissie  they  usuaUy  called  hei>-was  to  the  best  of  his 
knowledge  stifl  wholly  free,  but  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
did  not  go  far. 

I  pumped  up  my  courage  again.  "  Is  she-tuoe?" 
"Oh,  nice  enough."  He  reaUy  didn't  know  nmdi 
about  her.  She  was  generally  away  at  school  when  he 
had  been  at  Goldborough  Castle.  When  she  was  there 
he  hadn't  seen  more  than  a  long-legged,  gawky  girl,  rather 
good  at  tennis,  with  red  hair  hanging  down  her  back. 

Satisfied  with  these  replies,  I  went  on  to  tell  him  of 
my  interview  witii  his  father  an  hour  or  two  before.    Of 
this  he  seized  on  ooe  point  with  some  ecstasy 
S8 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


So  you  told  hiin  you'd  take  mel    Oh,  Alix-roAl" 
Jl«  «cWt«»  was  a  sigh  of  reUef  as  weU iTS^pt- 
«*.    I  could)  smile  at  it  because  it  was  so  tovSiT^ 

^rrr;a?S"",  "  "^  ^"^  -  ag^  i^^ 

freed  my^  however.  I  said,  with  a  show  of  finrmess- 
rj2f:^^?:^:„^.-^^-'^=  •"'tit-snot  What 

sailiTto^SLi"^'"^"'^**"^*^-'    But  if  you 
"I'm  still  not  obUged  to  accept  you-to^y." 
But  If  you  mean  to  accept  me  at  all— " 

•'BSwjr<rT  *°  ^**^*  y°"~^  ^  eoes  wen." 
^  aut  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

I  mean-^f  your  family  should  want  me." 

.  ""^^  feel  his  clasp  relax  as  he  said:  "Oh.  if  vo,,'™ 
gomg  to  wait  for  that!"  «JJi.  if  you  re 

r  detached  myself  altogether  bom  his  embrace   pre- 

tendmg  to  arrange  my  skirts  about  mv  feet     T^l'J^ 

t^^  his  fingers  interlocked^;  dbo^  on  S  S 

hiskmd  young  face  disconsolate.  ^' 

When  I  talked  to  your  father  "  T  t^^  * 

Marriage  doesnt  concern  a  man  and  a  woman  alnnl 
It  concerns  a  family-sometimes  two"  = 

His  ay  came  out  with  the  explosive  fo«»  of  •  stowly 
S9 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

eatheriag  gRMn.  "Oh,  lot,  Alix!"  He  went  on  to  «x- 
postulate:  "Can't  you  see?  If  we  wete  to  go  now  and 
buy  a  lioenae— and  be  married  by  the  fiist  det^yman  we 
met — ^the  family  couldn't  say  a  word." 

"Exactly;  it's  just  what  I  do  see.    Since  you  want  it 
I  could  force  myself  on  them— the  word  is  your  father'a— 
and  they'd  have  no  choice  but  to  accept  me." 
"WeU,  then?" 

"Hugh,  dear,  I— I  can't  do  it  that  way." 
"Thai  what  way  could  you  do  it?" 
"I'm  not  sore  yet.    I  haven't  thought  of  h.    I  only 
know  in  advance  that  even  if  I  told  you  I'd  many  you 
against— against  all  their  wishes,  I  couldn't  keep  my 
promise  in  the  end." 

"That  is,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "you  think  more  of  them 
than  you  do  of  me." 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  clasped  fingers.  "Nonsense. 
I— I  love  you.  Don't  you  see  I  do?  How  could  I  help 
loving  you  when  you've  been  so  kind  to  me?  But  mar- 
riage is  always  a  serious  thing  to  a  woman;  and  when  it 
comes  to  marriage  into  a  family  that  would  look  on  me 
as  a  great  misfortune— Hugh,  darling,  I  don't  see  how  I 
could  ever  face  it." 

"  I  do,"  he  declared,  promptly.    "  It  isn't  so  bad  as  you 
think.    Families  come  round.    There  was  Tracy  Allen. 
Married  a  manicure.    The  Mens  kicked  up  a  row  at 
first — wouldn't  see  Tracy  and  all  that;  but  now — " 
"Yes,  but,  Hugh,  I'm  not  a  manicure." 
"You're  a  nursery  governess." 
"By  accident — and  a  little  by  misfortune.    I  wasn't 
a  nursery  governess  when  I  first  knew  your  sister." 
"But  what  difference  does  that  make?" 
"It  makes  this  difference:  that  a  manicure  would  prob- 
60 


S, 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

ably  not  think  of  herself  as  your  equal.    She'd  expect 
coldness  at  first,  and  be  prepared  for  it." 
"Well,  couldn't  you?" 
"No,  because,  you  see,  I'm  your  equal." 
He  hunched  his  big  shoulders  impatiently.    "Oh,  Alix, 
I  don't  go  into  that.    I'm  a  Socialist.    I  don't  care  what 
you  are." 

"But  you  see  I  do.  I  don't  want  to  expose  myself  to 
being  looked  down  upon,  and  perhaps  despised,  for  the 
rest  of  my  life,  because  my  family  is  quite  as  food  as  your 
own." 

He  turned  slowly  from  peering  into  the  fog-bank  to 
fix  on  me  a  look  of  which  the  tenderness  and  pity  and 
increduUty  seemed  to  stab  me.  I  felt  the  helplessness  of 
a  sane  person  insisting  on  his  sanity  to  some  one  who 
believes  him  mad. 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  those  things,  darling  little 
Alix,"  he  begged,  gently.  "Let's  do  the  thing  in  style, 
like  Tracy  Allen,  without  any  flummery  or  fluff.  What's 
family— <inoe  you  get  away  from  the  idea?  When  I  sink 
it  I  should  think  that  you  could  afford  to  do  it  too.  If 
I  take  you  as  Tracy  .Allen  took  Libby  Jaynes-that  was 
her  name,  I  remember  now— not  a  very  pretty  girl— but 
if  I  take  you  as  he  took  her,  and  you  take  me  as  she  took 

Tiim — " 

"  But,  Hugh,  I  can't.  If  I  were  Libby  Jaynes,  it's  pos- 
sible I  could;  but  as  it  is — " 

And  in  the  end  he  came  round  to  my  point  of  view. 
That  is  to  say,  he  appreciated  my  unwillingness  to  reward 
Mrs.  Rossiter's  kindness  to  me  by  creating  a  scandal, 
and  he  was  not  without  some  admiration  for  what  he 
called  my  "magnanimity  toward  his  old  man"  in  hesitat- 
ing to  drive  him  to  extremes. 
6i 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

And  yet  it  was  Hugh  himself  who  drove  him  to  a- 
tremes,  over  questions  which  I  harfly  raima.  That  Was 
some  ten  days  later,  when  Hugh  refused  point-blank  to 
«ul  on  the  ^earner  his  father  had  selected  totake  him  on 
the  way  to  Strath-na-Cloid.  1  was.  of  comse.  not  presen 
a.  the  interview,  but  having  heard  of  it  fnwi  Hugh,  and 
g^t  his  account  cor.-oborated  by  Ethel  Rossiter  I  can 
aescnbe  it  much  as  it  took  place. 

vriT  "T^  ^T.'  ^^^'  ^^^  I  "t^  "gained  with 
Mrs.  Ros^ter.     My  marching  orders,  expected  from  hour 

«us  delay  to  me  some  four  days  after  that  scene  in  the 
breakfast  loggia  which  had  left  me  in  a  state  of  curiosity 
and  suspense.  ' 

I  JX^^'^f  T"  *°,  think  that  if  he  insisted  on  your 
eavmg  it  would  make  Hugh's  asking  you  to  many  him 
too  much  a  matter  of  importance  " 
^d  doesn't  he  himself  consider  it  a  matter  of  im- 

nl»^"'  ^^^.  ^^^  a  tress  of  her  brown  hair  into 
place.     "No.  I  don't  think  he  does." 

Perhaps  nothing  from  the  beginning  had  made  me 
more  inwardly  indignant  than  the  simplicity  of  this  reply 
1  had  m^gmed  him  raging  against  me  in  his  heart  and 
tomung  deep,  dark  plans  to  destroy  me 

"It  would  be  a  matter  of  importance  to  most  people  • 
:  said,  trying  not  to  betray  my  feeling  of  offense. 

h«if^*•^'^^''  ^'■^^^'"  ^"-  ^°^^  contented 
^U  with  leplymg.  stm  occupied  with  her  tress  of 

It  was  the  confidential  hour  of  the  morning  in  her  bie 
chmtzy  room.    The  maid  having  departed.  I  had  be^ 
answermg  notes  and  was  stiU  sitting  at  the  desk     It 
62 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

WM  the  first  time  she  had  broached  the  subject  in  the 
four  days  which  had  been  to  me  a  period  of  so  much  rest- 
lessness. Wondering  at  this  detachment,  I  had  the  bold- 
ness to  question  her. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  important  to  you?" 

She  threw  me  a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  turning  back 
to  the  mirror  at  once.  "What  have  I  got  to  do  with  it? 
It's  father's  affaii^-and  Hugh's." 

"And  mine,  too,  I  suppose?"  I  hazarded,  interroga- 
tivdy. 

To  this  she  said  nothing.  Her  silence  gave  me  to 
understand  what  so  many  other  Uttle  things  impressed 
upon  me— that  I  didn't  count.  What  Hugh  did  or  didn't 
do  was  a  matte-  for  the  Brokenshires  to  feel  and  for  J 
Howard  Brokenshire  to  deal  with.  Ethel  Rossiter  her- 
self was  neither  for  me  nor  against  me.  I  was  her  nursery 
governess,  and  useful  as  an  unofficial  companion-secretary. 
As  long  as  it  was  not  forbidden  she  would  keep  me  in 
that  capacity;  when  the  order  came  she  would  send  me 
away.  As  for  anything  I  had  to  suffer,  that  was  my  own 
lookout.  Hugh  would  be  managed  by  his  father,  and 
from  that  fate  there  was  no  appeal.  There  was  nothing, 
therefore,  to  worry  Mrs.  Rossiter.  She  could  dismiss  the 
whole  matter,  as  she  presently  did,  to  discuss  her  troubles 
over  the  rival  attentions  of  Mr.  Millinger  and  Mr.  Scott, 
Md  to  protest  against  their  making  her  so  conspicuous. 
She  had  the  kindness  to  say,  however,  just  as  she  was 
leaving  the  house  for  Bailey's  Beach: 

"I  don't  talk  to  you  about  this  affair  of  Hugh's  be- 
cause I  really  don't  see  much  of  father.  It's  his  business, 
you  see,  and  nothing  for  me  to  interfere  with.  With  that 
woman  there  I  hardly  ever  go  to  their  house,  and  he 
ooeaa  t  often  come  here.  Her  mother's  with  them,  toc^ 
63 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


hut  oow-tbut;  old  Mn.  Billing-*  hamv  U  «^  .x. 
WM  one-«nd  with  all  th«  th^         T^'^     *'*  *«» 

same."  I  pian««i  «„  *„           ^J; T.      P"      ""•  3****  the 
"~"=i    i  giancea  up  to  say.     "  TelT  mo     «•« .    ■ 

I  Sr^!''^  ^^  ""*  ""'^^^  ^  ^y  couatrv?" 
_   I  was  begmmng  with  the  words,  "Whv  v«  "  „k«,  u 
interrupted  me.  ^'  '^^    ^''®"  ^e 

"Think." 

64 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Yott  attach  some  importance  to  birth.    Yes;  ao  do 
we  here-when  it  goes  with  money.    Without  the  basis 
of  that  support  neither  you  nor  we  give  what  is  so  deli- 
aously  caUed  birth  the  honor  of  a  second  thoueht  " 
"Oh  yes,  we  do-" 

"When  it's  your  only  asset— yes;  but  you  do  it  alone. 
No  one  else  pays  it  any  attention." 
I  colored.    "That's  rather  cruel—" 
"It's  not  a  bit  more  cruel  than  the  fut.    Take  your 
case  and  mine  as  an  illustration.    As  the  estimate  of 
birth  goes  m  this  country.  I'm  as  weU  bom  as  the  ma- 
lonty.    My  ancestors  were  New-Englanders.  country 
doctors  and  lawyers  and  ministers-especially  the  minis- 
tere.    But  as  long  as  I  haven't  the  cash  I'm  only  a  tutor 
and  eat  at  the  second  table.    Jim  Rossiter's  forebears  were 
much  the  same  as  mine;  but  the  fact  that  he  has  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  a  year  and  I've  haidly  got  two  is 
the  only  thing  that  would  be  taken  into  consideration  by 
any  one  m  either  the  United  Kingdom  or  the  United 
States.    It  would  be  the  same  if  I  descended  from  Cm- 
saders.    If  I've  got  nothing  but  that  and  my  character 
to  recommend  me-"    He  raised  his  hand  and  snapped 
his  fingers  with  a  scornful  laugh.    "Take  your  case,"  he 
hurried  on  as  I  was  about  to  speak.    "You're  probably 
like  me,  sprung  erf  a  line  of  professional  men—" 

"And  soldiers,"  I  interrupted,  proudly.     "The  first  of 

my  family  to  settle  in  Canada  was  a  General  Adare  in 

the  micdle  of  the  seventeen  hundreds.    He'd  been  in  the 

gamson  at  Halifax  and  chose  to  remain  in  Nova  Scotia  " 

T^^^  ^^^  "^^  ^°^  boastfulness  in  my  tone  as  I 

added,   'He  came  of  the  famous  Fighting  Adares  of  the 

County  Limerick." 

"And  aU  that  isn't  worth  a  tow  of  pins-except  to 

6t 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


y«wclf.  If  you  were  the  daughter  of  a  miner  who'd 
^ck  rt  rich  you'd  b«  .  candidate  for  the  BritiA  p^ 
•Ke.    Y«»d  be  received  in  the  best  hou«,  in  Loii^ 

rit*^' "^ '  "^ -^  °° «»«--"  «y  « 

"As  it  is."  I  said,  tremulously.  "I'm  just  a  nursery 
Eovwness,  and  there's  no  getting  away  from  the  fact." 
Not  until  you  get  away  from  the  condition  " 
So  that  when  I  told  Hugh  Brokenahiie  the  other  dav 
that  m  pomt  of  family  I  was  his  equal—" 

"He  probably  didn't  believe  you." 

The  memory  of  Hugh's  look  still  rankled  in  me.    "No 
I  don't  think  he  did."  ' 

"Of  course  he  didn't.    As  the  world  counts-as  we  aU 
count-ao  poor  family,  however  noble,  is  the  equal  of 

fZ,r^  T'^'  ^^  *^-"    '^^  ^-^  thaT^s- 
formatjon  of  his  smUe  from  something  sunny  to  some- 

"^  t'  T  ?  ^T  ^'"*  *°  ""^  «"8l>  Brokenshiie-" 
Which  I  do."  I  mterposed.  defiantly. 

it  hC^f  y°^^  enter  into  his  game  as  he  enters  into 
Sc^"    "*,  ^'^"f'^^lf^^  doing  the  big  ron^- 
W  T^'u       *  """"^^^  *  P"*  P'J  ^ho  has  nothing 
but  herself  as  guaranty.    That  your  great-grandfather 
was  a  general  and  one  of  the— what  did  you  caU  them?- 
Pightmg  Adares  of  the  County  Cork  would  mean  no 
more  tohun  than  if  you  said  you  were  descended  from 
the  Lacedffimonmns  and  the  dragon's  teeth.    As  far  as 
ttat  goes,  you  might  as  well  be  an  immigrant  girl  fi«m 
Sw«ien;  you  might  as  well  be  a  cook.    He's  stooping  to 
p^  uphrs  diamond  from  the  mire,  instead  of  buying  it 
from  a  jeweler's  window.    Very  well,  then,  you  must  let 
him  stoop.    You  mustn't  try  to  underestimate  his  con- 
66 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

dwceoiJon.  You  mtutn't  ten  him  you  wm  once  in  a 
jeweler's  windonr,  and  only  fell  into  the  mire  by  chance—" 

"Becau«e,"  I  imiled,  "the  nure  U  where  I  belong,  until 
I'm  taken  out  of  it." 

"We  belong."  he  itated,  judicially,  "where  the  w  ,1 
puts  us.  If  we're  wiae  we'll  stay  there— till  we  can  ?  i..f ; 
Ihe  world's  own  temu  for  getting  out." 


C3IAPTER  V 

T  COME  at  last  to  Hugh's  defiance  of  his  father.  It  took 
1  place  not  only  without  my  incitement,  but  without  my 
knowledge.  No  one  could  have  been  more  sick  with  mis- 
givmg  than  I  when  I  learned  that  the  boy  had  left  his 
father's  house  and  gone  to  a  hotel.  If  I  was  to  blame  at 
aU  It  was  in  mentioning  from  time  to  time  his  condition 
ctt  dependence. 

"You  haven't  the  right  to  defy  your  father's  wishes  " 
Isaid  to  him,  "so  long  as  you're  Uving  on  his  money. 
What  It  comes  to  is  that  he  pays  you  to  do  as  he  tells 
you.  If  you  don't  do  as  he  tells  you,  you're  not  eamine 
your  allowance  honestly." 

The  point  of  view  was  new  to  him.  "But  if  I  was 
making  a  living  of  my  own.'" 

"Ah,  that  would  be  different." 

"You'd  marrj'  me  then?" 

I  considered  this.     "It  would  still  have  to  depend."  I 
was  obliged  to  say  at  last. 
"Depend  on  what?" 

"On  the  degree  to  which  you  made  yourself  your  own 
master." 

"I  should  be  my  own  master  if  I  earned  a  good  income  " 
I  admitted  this. 

"Very  well,"  he  declared,  with  decision.    "IshaUeam 
68 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  didn't  question  his  power  to  do  that  I  had  heard 
so  much  of  the  American  man's  ability  to  make  money 
that  I  took  it  for  granted,  as  I  did  a  bird's  capacity  for 
ffight.  As  far  as  Hugh  was  concerned,  it  seemed  to  me 
more  a  matter  of  intention  than  of  opportunity.  I 
reasoned  that  if  he  made  up  his  mind  to  be  independent, 
independent  he  would  be.  It  would  rest  with  liim.  It 
was  not  of  the  future  I  was  thinking  so  much  as  of  the 
present;  and  in  the  present  I  was  chiefly  dodging  his  plea 
that  we  settle  the  matter  by  taking  the  law  into  our  own 
hands. 

"It  -  on't  be  as  bad  as  you  think,"  he  kept  urging. 
"Father  would  be  sure  to  come  round  to  jrou  if  you  were 
my  wife.  He  never  quarrels  with  the  accomplished  fact. 
That's  been  part  of  the  secret  of  his  success.  He'll  fight 
a  thing  as  long  as  he  can;  but  when  it's  carried  over 
his  head  no  one  knows  better  than  he  how  to  make  the 
best  of  it." 

"But,  Hugh,  I  don't  want  to  have  him  make  the  bcac 
of  it  that  way— at  least,  so  long  as  you're  not  your  own 
master." 

One  day  at  the  Casino  he  pointed  out  Libby  Jaynes 
to  me.    I  was  there  in  charge  of  the  children,  and  he 
managed  to  slip  over  from  the  tennis  he  was  playing  for 
a  word: 
"There  she  is— that  girl  with  the  orange-silk  sweater." 
The  pjint  of  his  remark  was  that  Libby  J,?ynes  was 
one  of  a  group  of  half  a  dozen  people,  and  was  apparently 
received  at  Newport  like  anybody  else.    The  men  were 
m  flannels;  the  women  in  the  short  skirts  and  easy  atti- 
tudes developed  by  a  sporting  life.    The  silk  sweater  in 
Its  brilliant  hues  was  to  the  Casino  grounds  as  the  parrot 
to  BraaKan  woods.    Libby  Jaynes  wasn't  pretty;    her 
69 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

lips  were  too  widely  parted  and  her  teeth  too  big-  b«rt 
her  figure  was  adapted  to  the  costume  of  the  day.  md  her 

Ti^  I  ^T^^  P"""^^-  She  wore  both  with  a 
decided  due.  She  was  the  orange  spot  where  thei«  was 
another  of  purple  and  another  of  pink  and  another  of 

t^T^'^'^-  -^^^  as  I  could  see  no  one  remem- 
bered that  she  had  ever  rubbed  men's  finger-nails  in  the 
barbers  room  of  a  hotel,  and  she  certainly  betrayed  no 

rf^^f  ^*7^'''^t  Hugh  begged  me  to  observe.  If 
I  liked  I  could  within  a  year  be  a  member  of  this  privi- 
teged  troop  instead  of  an  outsider  looking  on.  "  You'd 
be  just  as  good  as  she  is,"  he  declared  with  a  n^vet^  I 
couldn  t  help  taking  with  a  smile. 

I  was  about  to  say.  "  But  I  don't  feel  inferior  to  her  as 
It  IS,  when  I  recalled  the  queer  look  of  increduUty  he 
had  given  me  on  the  beach. 

And  then  one  morning  I  heard  he  had  quarreled  with 
tos  father.  It  was  Hugh  who  told  me  first,  but  Mrs 
Rossiter  gave  me  all  the  details  within  an  hour  afterward" 

Aa^^^,^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^  *  dimier-party  in  honoi^ 
of  old  Mrs.  Bilhng  which  liad  gone  off  with  some  success. 
The  guests  havmg  left,  the  family  ha.  gathered  in  Mil- 
dred s  sittmg-room  to  give  the  invalid  an  account  of  the 
entertainment.  It  was  one  of  those  domestic  reunions 
on  wnioh  the  household  god  insisted  from  time  to  time 
so  that  his  wife  should  seem  to  have  that  support  froiti 
j^-^:s  children  which  both  he  and  she  knew  she  didn't  have 
ine  Jack  Brokenshires  were  there,  and  Hugh,  and  Ethel 
Rossiter. 

It  was  exactly  the  scene  for  a  tragi-comedy,  and  had 
the  kind  of  settmg  theatrical  producers  liked  i>efore  the 

^aTu'TTI  "^^  *^'  °°^  °^  allegorical  simplicity. 

Mildred  had  the  best  comer  room  up-stairs,  though  like 

70 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

the  rest  of  the  house,  her  surroundings  suffered  from  her 
fathers  taste  for  the  Italianate  and  over-rich.  Heavy 
dark  cabinets,  heavy  dark  chairs,  gilt  candelabra,  and 
splendidly  brocaded  stuffs  threw  the  girl's  wan  face  and 
weak  figure  into  prominence.  I  think  she  often  sighed 
for  pretty  papers  and  cretonnes,  for  Sevres  and  colored  I 
pnats,  but  she  took  her  tapestries  and  old  masters  and 
majohca  as  decreed  by  a  power  slie  couldn't  question 
When  everything  was  done  for  her  comfort  the  poor  thing 
had  nothing  to  do  for  herself. 

The  room  had  the  further  resemblance  to  a  scene  on 
the  stage  smce,  as  I  was  given  to  understand,  no  one  felt 
the  reahty  of  the  friendliness  enacted.    To  aU  J   How- 
ard's children  it  was  odious  that  he  should  worship  a 
woman  who  was  younger  than  Mildred  and  very  Uttle 
older  than  Ethel.    They  had  loved  their  mother,  who  had 
beenpUin.    They  resented  the  fact  that  their  father  had 
got  hold  of  her  money  for  himself,  had  made  her  un- 
happy, and  had  forgotten  her.    That  he  should  have  be- 
come infatuated  with  a  girl  who  was  their  own  con- 
temporary would  have  been  a  humiliation  to  them  in  any 
case;    but  when  the  story  of  his  fight  for  her  became 
pubhc  property,  when  it  was  the  joke  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
c-iange  and  the  subject  of  leading  articles  in  the  press 
they  cou^d  only  hold  their  heads  high  and  cairy  the  situa- 
tion with  bravado.     It  was  a  proof  of  hi.  grip  on  New 
iork  that  he  could  put  Editha  Billing  where  he  wished 
to  see  her,  and  find  no  authority,  social  or  financial,  bold 
enough  to  question  him;   it  was  equally  a  proof  of  his 
dominance  in  his  family  that  neither  son  nor  daughter 
owild  treat  his  new  wife  with  anything  but  deference, 
bhe  was  the  maUresse  en  tttre  to  whom  even  the  princes 
and  prmcesses  had  to  bow 
^  71 


!ii: 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
They  wm  bowing  on  this  evening  by  treating  old  Mrs. 

!r,  ,  .^  ^^  "^^^^  °f  the  favorite  she  could  reason- 
ably ckm  this  homage,  and  no  one  refused  it  buTZr 
Hugh.    He   turned    his    back    on    it.    MildredT  S 

S^     .1  *°  ^  '^'"^  °^  ^hat  he  caUed  a  flatted 

riSIT]'';.'^*"'^'"'''^-  That  went  on  in  the  S 
nchly  hghted  room  behind  him.  where  the  otheHTt 
about,  pretending  to  be  gay. 

Then  the  match  went  into  the  gunpowder  all  at  once. 
T  Wn     !S^  r*^  ^}^  ^^^  ^^°^e  has  been  pleasant," 
a  farewell  to  Hugh.    He's  sailing  on—" 
^^Hugh  merely  said  over  his  shoulder.  "No,  father;  I'm 

raS:  °°'  ^  ^  he  had  not  been  inter- 

"He's  sailing  on — " 
"No,  father;  I'm  not." 

h;I!!r  Z"^  °T°  **^^^  ^  ""Sh's  tone  any  mote  than  in 
his  parent's.    I  gathered  from  Mrs.  Rossit«-  that  dlp^ 

phem^  would  be  struck  dead.  Mentally  they  stood  off, 
too,  lie  the  choms  in  an  opera,  to  see  the  great  tragedy 
acted  to  the  end  without  interference  of  thek^.  H 
Brokenshire,  who  was  fingering  an  extinct  cigar,  twid^^ 

eaned  forward  m  exatement.  Mrs.  Brokenshire  affected 
to  he^  nothing  and  arranged  her  five  rows  of  pearls 
Mrs.  BUhng,  wh«n  Mrs.  Rossiter  described  as  a  S^ 
with  lace  on  her  head  and  diamonds  round  her  shrunken 


'.f^fS'-'i 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

neck,  looked  from  one  to  another  through  her  lorgnette, 
which  she  fixed  at  last  on  her  son-in-law.  Ethel  Rossiter 
kept  herself  detached.  Knowing  that  Hugh  had  been 
riding  for  a  fall,  she  expected  him  now  to  come  his  cropper. 
It  caused  some  surprise  to  the  lookers-on  that  Mr. 
Brokenshire  should  merely  press  the  electric  bell.  "Tell 
Mr.  SpeUman  to  come  here,"  he  said,  quietly,  to  the  foot- 
man who  answered  his  ring. 

Mr.  SpeUman  appeared,  a  smooth-shaven  man  of  in- 
definite age,  with  dark  shadows  in  the  face,  and  cadaver- 
ous. His  master  instructed  him  with  a  word  or  two. 
There  was  silence  during  the  minute  that  followed  the 
man's  withdrawal,  a  silence  ominous  with  expectation. 
When  SpeUman  had  returned  and  handed  a  long  envelope 
to  his  employer  and  withdrawn  again,  the  suspended 
action  was  renewed. 

Hugh,  who  was  playing  in  seeming  unconcern  with  the 
tassel  of  MUdred's  dressing-gown,  had  given  no  attention 
to  the  small  drama  going  on  behind  him. 
"Hugh,  here's  father,"  Mildred  whispered. 
Her  white  face  was  drawn;  she  was  fond  of  Hugh;  she 
seemed  to  scent  the  catastrophe.  Hugh  continued  to 
play  with  the  tassel  without  glancing  upward. 

It  was  not  J.  Howard's  practice  to  raise  his  voice  or 
to  speak  with  emphasis  except  when  the  occasion  de- 
manded it.  He  was  very  gentle  now  as  his  hand  slipped 
over  Hugh's  shoulder. 

"Hugh,  here's  your  ticket  and  your  letter  of  credit. 
I  asked  SpeUman  to  see  to  them  when  he  was  in  New 
York." 

The  young  man  barely  turned  his  head.    "Thank 
you,  father;  but  I  don't  want  them.    I  can't  go  over— 
because  I'm  going  to  marry  Miss  Adare." 
73 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Billing,  turning  h^  W,  JT^       F^  "^    ^'^^  Mn. 

veiope  tail  Hugh  continued  to  play  with  the  t..ll^^ 
.  P°;  "'•^e  Howard  Biokenshire  w/  ^L^l^  ^' 
;ng  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two  helid^hf^:.  "*''" 
"What  did  you  say,  Hughr  ^"^  '^'*  ^°"'*' 

The  answer  was  quite  distinct     "T  «.m  t 
to  marry  Miss  Adare"  "^"^  I  was  going 

"Who's  that?" 

«^T"e™er'1:J'v'T"''f«--    She's  Ethel's  nur.- 
•■  Sn  ''"'  ^  ?.°"^''*  *''^'  ^^  °^  ^d  done  with  " 

Oh,  are  you?    Well,  so  am  I     Thp  r«Mi i. 

expecting  you  for  the  iwelfT--  ^"^'^''^""^hs  «"> 

■'^e  Goldboroughs  can  go  to—" 

74 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

an  Idea  he  would  have  retired  gracefully,  waiting  for  a 
[      °«»«  movement  opportunity,  had  it  not  been  for  old 
Mrs.  BiUing's  lorgnette. 

It  will  perhaps,  not  interrupt  my  narrative  too  much 
If  I  say  here  that  of  all  the  important  women  he  knew  he 
wasmosta&aidofher.  She  had  coached  him  when  he  was ' 
th^T  Vu"  "^^  '^  ^  estabUshed  young  woman  of 
the  world  She  must  then  have  had  a  certain  Uauti  du 
dtabte  and  tliat  nameless  thing  which  men  find  excitine 

1^  u'^r  "t"  °^  '^'°^'  °^^  ^^^  «^  fight  wMe 
she  holds  the  stakes,  and  I  can  believe  it.    Her  history 
was  said  to  be  full  of  dramatic  episodes,  though  I  nev«r 
knew  what  they  were.    Even  at  sixty,  which  was  the 
age  at  whicli  I  saw  her,  she  had  that  kind  of  presence 
which  chaUenges  and  dares.    She  was  ugly  and  hook- 
nosed  and   withered;  but  she  couldn't  be  overlooked 
To  me  she  suggested  that  Madame  Poisson  who  so  ca:^ 
ftiUy  prepared  her  daughter  to  become  the  Marquise  de 
P^padour.    Stacy  Grainger,  I  believe,  was  the  Louis 
XV.  of  her  earlier  plans,  though,  like  a  bom  strategist,  she 
changed  her  methods  when  reasons  arose  for  doing  so     I 
shall  return  to  this  later  in  my  story.    At  present  I  only 
want  to  say  that  I  do  not  beUeve  that  Mr.  Brokenshire 
would  have  pushed  things  to  an  issue  that  night  had  her 
lorgnette  not  been  there  to  provoke  him 

"Has  it  occurred  to  you,  Hugh."  he  asked,  in  his  soft-  . 
est  ton^.  on  reaching  a  stand  before  the  chimney  which 
was  filled  with  dwarfed  potted  palms,  "that  I  pay  you  an 
allowance  of  six  thousand  doUars  a  year?" 

Hugh  continued  to  play  with  the  tassel  of  Mildred's 
gown.       Yes  father;  and  as  a  Socialist  I  don't  think  it 
ngflt.    I  ve  been  coming  to  the  decision  that—" 
75 


ill 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


-IX-TdTp J1L^r JT «« Sod."*  ««■ 

d^ir  a,d  leave  pTMaS.  ,'  ti"*^  ^"^  *«^  » 
Mildred  whispered:    "Oh.  Hi    i,"  k- 

h^ds  in-hll'^"^^-/ hunched  podtion!^ 
ful  to  the  company  ^  ^""'^  ««*  ""Pect- 

«^*r^°rd:::s^s^:"'-<^«^.-i«^^ 
S^T"-  °^  ^'^^  ^•"<^  air  £r^,^- 

shaV^^aStofS^^L^?'  °^--  ^*^-.  t—  I 

Hugh,  yota:  expression  'sha'n't  k«    1 1 
not  in  the  vocabul^th  wwl V^  ^l^le  to  obey'  i, 
"But  Jf  o  ;«  4.1.  wnicn  i  m  familiar." 

But  It  s  m  the  one  with  which  I  am  " 

It  in  your  memory     You'Ilftn^        mi.  '^-  ^  io  Sx 
for  it."         ^^     ^°""fi«dyou'Uhavealotatuse 

?6  ' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Don't  be  anpertinent" 

"I'm  not  impertinent.  I'm  itating  a  fact.  I  ask 
every  one  here  to  remember  that  name—" 

"We  needn't  bring  any  one  else  into  this  foolish  busi- 
ness. Its  between  you  and  me.  Even  so,  I  wish  to  have 
no  argument." 

"Nor  I." 

"Then  in  that  case  we  undf  itand  each  other.  You'll 
oe  with  the  Goldboroughs  for  tne  twelfth—" 

Hugh  spoke  very  distinctly:  "Father-rm-not— 
going." 

fai  the  silence  that  foUowed  one  could  hear  the  tickine 

«  the  mantelpiece  clock. 
"Then  may  I  ask  where  you  are  going?" 
Hugh  raised  himself  from  his  sprawling  attitude,  hold- 

mghis  bulky  young  figure  erect.    "I'm  going  to  earn  a 

&>me  one,  perhaps  old  Mrs.  Billing,  laughed.  The 
father  contmued  to  ^  with  great  if  dangerous  courtesy, 
at  ^t?"  '  interesting.    And  may  I  ask 

"At  what  I  can  find." 

"That's  more  interesting  stiU.  Earning  a  Hving  in 
New  York  >s  like  the  proverbial  looking  for  the  n^e 
m  ttie  haystack.    The  needle  is  there,  but  it  take^" 

Very  good  eyesight  to  detect  it.    All  right,  dad.    I 
shall  be  on  the  job." 
"Good!    And  when  do  you  propose  to  begin?" 
It  had  not  been  Hugh's  intention  to  begin  at  any  time 
m  particular,  but,  thus  chaUenged,  he  said,  boldly,  "To- 
morrow. 

«JT!h*,!'  excellent.    But  why  put  it  off  so  long?    I 
should  thmk  you'd  start  out-to-night." 
77 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


r>e  "Citing  ^^,  ^  *^,  rf  *^.r**  ** 
.t  did  justice  to  a  sporting  Eon  2  T^.h^fl'^  '^^ 
*•»  story  on  the  fonoJi!^  "•■"auon.    As  Hugh  told  me 

S,"^^  throwing  the  words'^rSaST^' 
;;A11  right  father.    Since  you  wish  it-" 

defy  your  wishes  dad  I  ™f  t^  °bhqaely.  "  I  don't 
aftwenty-^*trii^„/^^^--theright  asaman 
yourself  God—"       '"'°^^e.    If  you  wouldn't  make 

The  handsome  hand  went  im     "w  .« 
that,  if  you  please^  rH*  ^^1     .^*  "  "°*  *^  about 
n>atter  ^y  S^'    liZr1^''°l°^  "^"^^  «» 
iathesituationTwhichw'^  ^°"^''*  that  if  I  were 
be-gettiag  b^y     S^m^f      ^^  ^'^  ^'ourself,  I  should 

he  had  the  power  to  ^.e  ^7^.-^7'^^  ^ 
father,  aU  the  same  "He  Ir^  ?*°^  ""^"y- 
Where  each  of  tr^aonS  slrSu^l  °"  *"•'  ^^ 
Passion  of  hoiror-that  is  ^thT),l  appropnate  ex- 
lady  Billing,  who  S  L^lf^  1^'''^**°"  °^  ^''^  °Jd 
nodded  app«,vdof  To  mu'lspX'*^c!S,  *°  ^  ^^'^• 
one,"  Hugh  continued  «C,n  "^^^  °"°^  ""^ht,  every 
the  door.      '=°°*'°"^'  «^My.  and  made  his  way  tow^ 

78 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Hughl    Hughiel    You're  not  going  away  like  that'" 
Hereteaced  his  steps  to  the  couch,  where  he  stooped. 

pr«»sedhui8u.ters  thin  fingers,  and  kissed  her.    Indobjt 
so  he  was  able  to  whisper:  ^ 

<;h!!i?^'*  ^°^'  ^""^  ''""•  Going  to  be  all  right. 
Shall  be  a  man  now.  See  you  soon  again."  Having 
raised  himself,  he  nodded  once  more.  "Good  night 
every  one."  "'I5"W 

Mrs.  Rossiter  said  that  he  was  so  much  like  a  young 
fellow  gmng  to  his  execution  that  she  couldn't  respond 
by  a  word.  ^ 

Hugh  tiben  marched  up  to  his  father  and  held  out  his 
hand.  Good  mght,  dad.  We  needn't  have  any  ill- 
feelmg  even  if  we  don't  agree." 

But  the  Great  Dispenser  didn't  see  him.  An  imposin-r 
figure  standing  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  he  kept 
his  fingers  clasped.  Looking  thixmgh  his  son  as  if  he 
^^  more  than  air.  he  remarked  to  the  company  in 

"I  don't  think  I've  ever  seen  Daisy  Burke  appear 
^^^xx'^^  ^'^  *°-'^«'^*-    S^«'^  "s^y  «>  badly 

where  Mrs.  Brokenshir^-whom  Ethel  Rossiter  described 
as  a  rigid,  exquisite  thing  staring  off  into  vacancy-sat  on 
a  man  upright  chair.     "What  do  you  think,  darling?" 

tw*?^"^^  ^^  *•"*  ^"^y  *^"g  *°  "^y  to  the  hint 
that  had  thus  been  given  them,  and  doing  their  best  to 
discuss  the  merits  and  demerits  of  Daisy  Burke,  as  he 
stood  m  the  big,  square  hall  outside,  wondering  where  he 
should  seek  shelter. 


MICTOCOrY  >I$01UTI0N   TiST  CHA«T 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


128 


L2J 


■  3.2       — „„ 

I™    12.2 

13.6    n^H 
^    1^ 


1.8 


K^l^i^ 


^  -APPLIED  IIVHGE     In 

^^  1653  Easi  Main  StrMi 

^■S  Rochesler.  Ne*  York         14609       uS* 

■.^^  ('16)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

^S  (716)  288  -  5989  -  Fa» 


CHAPTER  VI 

■ryHAT  Hugh  did  in  the  end  was  simple.  Finding 
»  »  the  footman  who  was  accustomed  to  valet  him  he 
oJ^toed  han  to  bring  a  supply  of  hnen  and  some  suit^  to 
a  certam  hotel  early  on  the  following  morning.  He  then 
P"i°°/  ^i"*  "^^W'a*  ^d  a  cap  and  left  the  house. 

ITie  first  few  steps  from  the  door  he  closed  behind  him 
gave  him,  so  he  told  me  next  day,  the  strangest  feeUng  he 

f^,,^T,?^^'^-    ^«  ^^  consciously  v^ta^g 

forth  mto  hfe  without  any  of  his  usual  supports.    What 

ttose  supports  had  been  he  had  never  realized  tiU  then 

He  had  always  been  stayed  by  some  one  else's  authority 

and  buoyed  all  round  by  plenty  of  money.    Now  he  felt 

todiange  the  sunile  as  he  changed  it  himself,  as  if  he  had 

been  thrown  out  of  the  nest  before  having  leamt   to 

fly.    As  he  walked  resolutely  down  the  dark  driveway 

toward  Ochre  Point  Avenue  he  was  mentaUy  hovering 

and  balancmg  and  trembling,  with  a  tendency  to  flop 

There  was  no  longer  a  downy  bed  behind  him;  no  longer 

^  vTu*  ^^  *°  ^^^  him  his  daily  woim.    Tie  outl<x.k 

which  had  been  one  thing  when  he  was  within  that  im- 

posmg,  many-lighted  mansion  became  another  now  that 

Was  turning  his  back  on  it  permanently  and  in  the 

_   TWs  he  confessed  when  he  had  surprised  me  by  anoear- 
mg  at  the  breakfast  loggia,  where  I  was  having  my  c^ 

80 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

with  Kttle  Gladys  Rossiter  somewhere  between  half  past 
eight  and  nine.  He  was  not  an  early  riser,  except  when 
the  tide  enticed  him  to  get  up  at  some  unusual  hour  to 
take  his  dip,  and  even  then  he  generally  went  back  to  bed 
To  see  him  coming  through  the  shrubbery  now,  carefuUy 
dressed,  pallid  and  grave,  half  told  me  his  news  before  he 
had  spoken. 

Luckily  Gladys  was  too  young  to  follow  anything  we 
said,  so  that  after  having  joyfully  kissed  her  uncle  Hugh 
she  went  on  with  her  bread  and  milk.  Hugh  took  a  cup 
of  coflfee,  sitting  sidewise  to  the  table  of  which  only  one 
end  was  spread,  while  I  was  at  the  head.  It  was  the 
hour  of  the  day  when  we  were  safest.  Mrs.  Rossiter 
never  left  her  room  before  eleven  at  earUest,  and  no  one 
else  whom  we  were  afraid  of  was  likely  to  be  about. 

"Well,  the  fat's  all  in  the  fire,  little  Alix,"  were  the 
words  m  which  he  announced  his  position.  "  I'm  out  on 
my  own  at  last." 

I  could  risk  nothing  in  the  way  of  tenderness,  partly 
because  of  the  maid  who  was  coming  and  going,  and 
partly  because  that  was  something  Gladys  would  under- 
stand. I  tried  to  let  him  see  by  my  eyes,  however,  the 
sympathy  I  felt.  I  knew  he  was  taking  the  new  turn  of 
events  soberly,  and  soberly,  with  an  immense  semi- 
maternal  yearning  over  him,  I  couldn't  help  taking  it 
myself. 

He  told  his  tale  quietly,  with  ahnost  no  interruption 
on  my  part.  I  was  pleased  to  note  that  he  expressed 
nothing  m  the  way  of  recrimination  toward  his  father. 
With  the  exception  of  an  occasional  fling  at  old  Mrs. 
Billing,  whom  he  seemed  to  regard  as  a  joss  or  a  bottle 
imp,  he  was  temperate,  too,  in  his  remarks  about  every- 
body else.  I  liked  his  sporting  attitude  and  told  him  so. 
8t 


I  Hi 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  sporting  in  it,"  he  threw  off  with 
a  kind  of  serious  carelessness.  "I'm  a  man;  that's  all. 
As  I  look  back  over  the  past  I  seem  to  have  been 
a  doll." 

I  asked  him  what  were  his  plans.  He  said  he  was 
going  to  apply  to  his  cousin,  Andrew  Brew,  of  Boston, 
going  on  to  tell  me  more  about  the  Br^ws  than  I  had 
ever  heard.  He  was  surprised  that  I  knew  nothing  of 
the  important  h'  ■?"  of  Brew,  Borrodaile  &  Co.,  of  Boston, 
who  did  such  £  miportant  business  with  England  and 
Europe  in  general.  I  replied  that  in  Canada  all  my  con- 
nections had  been  with  the  law,  and  with  Service  people 
in  England.  I  noticed,  as  I  had  noticed  before  in  saying 
things  like  that,  that,  in  common  with  most  American 
business  men,  he  looked  on  the  Anny  and  Navy  as  in- 
ferior occupations.  There  was  no  money  in  either. 
That  in  itself  was  sufficient  to  condemn  them  in  the  eyes 
of  a  gentleman. 

I  forgot  to  be  nettled,  as  I  sometimes  had  been,  because 
of  finding  myself  so  deeply  immersed  in  his  interests. 
Up  to  that  minute,  too,  I  had  had  no  idea  that  he  had 
so  much  pride  of  birth.  He  talked  of  the  Brews  and  the 
Brokenshires  as  if  they  had  been  Bourbons  and  Hohen- 
zollems,  making  me  feel  a  veritable  Libby  Jaynes  never 
to  have  heard  of  them.  Of  the  Brews  in  particular  he 
spoke  with  reverence.  There  had  been  Brews  in  Boston, 
he  said,  since  the  year  one.  Like  all  other  American 
families,  as  I  came  to  know  later,  they  were  descended 
from  three  brothers.  In  Norfolk  and  Suffolk  they  had 
been,  so  I  guessed— though  Hugh  passed  the  subject  over 
with  some  vagueness— of  comparatively' humble  stock, 
but  under  the  American  flag  they  had  acquired  money, 
a  quasi-nobility  and  coats  of  arms.  To  hear  a  tnnti  boast- 
8a 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

ing,  however  modestly — and  he  was  modest — of  these 
respectable  nobodies,  who  had  simply  earned  money 
and  saved  it,  made  me  blush  inwardly  in  such  a  way 
that  I  vowed  never  to  mention  the  Fighting  Adares 
again. 

I  could  do  this  with  no  diminution  of  my  feeling  for 
poor  Hugh.  His  artless  glory  in  a  line  of  ancestry  of 
which  tie  fame  had  never  gone  beyond  the  shores  of 
Massachusetts  Bay  was,  after  all,  a  harmless  bit  of  vanity. 
It  took  nothing  away  from  his  kir  ^is  good  inten- 

tions, or  his  solid  worth.  When  he  i.  1  T.ie  hov.'  I  should 
care  to  live  in  Boston  I  replied  that  I  should  like  it  very 
much.  I  had  always  heard  of  it  as  a  pleasant  city  of 
English  characteristics  and  affiliations. 

Wherever  ho  was,  I  told  him,  I  should  be  at  home — 
if  I  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  him. 

"But  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  haven't  you?"  he 
asked,  anxiously. 

I  was  obliged  to  reply  with  frankness,  "Not  quite, 
Hugh,  because — " 

"Then  what's  the  use  of  my  getting  into  this  hole, 
if  it  isn't  to  be  with  you?" 

"You  mean  by  the  hole  the  being,  as  you  call  it.  out 
on  your  ov.ti?  But  I  thought  you  did  that  to  be  a  Social- 
ist— and  a  man." 

"I've  done  it  because  father  won't  let  me  marry  you 
any  other  way." 

"Then  if  that's  all,  Hugh—" 

"But  it  isn't  all,"  he  interrupted,  hastily.  "I  don'S 
say  but  v/hat  if  father  had  given  tis  his  blessing,  and 
come  down  with  another  six  thousand  a  year — we  could 
hardly  scrub  along  on  less — I'd  have  taken  it  and  been 
thankful.  But  now  that  he  hasn't — well,  I  can  see  that 
83 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

it's  all  for  the  best.  It's— it's  brought  me  out,  as  you 
might  say,  and  forced  me  to  a  decision." 

I  harked  back  to  the  sentence  in  which  he  had  broken 
in  on  me.  "If  it  was  all,  Hugh,  then  that  would  oblige 
me  to  make  up  my  mind  at  once.  I  couldn't  be  the 
means  of  compelling  you  to  break  with  your  family  and 
give  up  a  lai^ge  income." 

He  cried  out  impatiently,  "Alix,  what  the  dickens  is 
a  family  and  a  large  income  to  me  in  comparison  with 
you?" 

I  must  say  that  his  intensity  touched  me.  Tears  sprang 
into  my  eyes.  I  risked  Glady's  presence  to  say :  "  Hugh, 
darling,  I  love  you.  I  can't  tell  you  what  your  generosity 
and  nobleness  mean  to  me.  I  hadn't  imagined  that  thei« 
was  a  man  like  you  in  the  world.  But  if  you  could  be 
in  my  place — " 

He  pushed  aside  his  coffee-cup  to  lean  with  both  arms 
on  the  table  and  lock  me  fiercely  in  the  eyes.  "If  I 
can't  be  in  your  place,  A\ix,  I've  seen  women  who  were, 
and  who  didn't  beat  so  terribly  aoout  the  bush.  Look 
at  the  way  Libby  Jaynes  married  Tracy  Allen.  She 
didn't  talk  about  his  family  or  his  giving  up  a  big  income. 
She  trusted  him." 

"And  I  trust  you;  only—"  I  broke  off,  to  get  at  him 
from  another  point  of  view.  "Do  you  know  Libby 
Jaynes  personally?" 

He  nodded. 

"Is  die— is  she  anything  like  me?" 

"No  one  is  Uke  you,"  he  exclaimed,  with  something 
that  was  ahnost  bitterness  in  the  tone.  "  Isn't  that  what 
I'm  trying  to  make  you  see?  You're  the  one  of  your 
kind  iu  the  world.  You've  got  me  where  a  woman  has 
never  got  a  man  before.  I'd  give  up  everything— rd 
84 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

itanre — I'd  lick  dust — ^but  I'd  follow  you  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth,  and  I'd  cling  to  you  and  keep  you."  He,  too, 
risked  Glady's  presence.  "But  you're  so  damn  cool, 
Alix— " 

"Oh  no,  I'm  not,  Hugh,  darling,"  I  pleaded  on  my  own 
behalf.  "I  may  seem  like  that  on  the  outside,  because 
— oh,  because  I've  such  a  lot  to  think  of,  and  I  have  to 
think  for  us  two.  That's  why  I'm  asking  you  if  you  found 
Libby  Jaynes  like  me." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "She's — she's  decent."  he  said, 
as  if  not  knowing  what  else  to  say. 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  I  mean— does  she  strike  you  as 
having  had  my  kind  of  ways?  Or  my  kind  of  ante- 
cedents?" 

"Oh,  antecedents!    Why  talk  about  them?" 

"It's  what  you've  been  doing,  isn't  it,  for  the  past 
half-hour?" 

"Oh,  mine,  yes;  because  I  want  you  to  see  that  I've 
got  a  big  asset  in  Cousin  Andrew  Brew.  I  know  he'll 
do  anything  for  me,  and  if  you'll  trust  me,  Alix — " 

"I  do  trust  you,  Hugh,  and  as  soon  as  you  have  ary- 
thing  like  what  would  make  you  indejiendent,  and  justi- 
fied in  braving  your  family's  disapproval — " 

He  took  an  apologetic  tone.  "I  said  just  now  that 
we  couldn't  scrape  along  on  less  than  twelve  thousand 
a  year — " 

To  me  the  sum  seemed  ridiculously  enonnous.  "Oh, 
I'm  sure  we  could." 

"Well,  that's  what  I've  been  thinking,"  he  said,  wist- 
fully. "  That  figure  was  based  on  having  the  Brokenshire 
position  to  keep  up.  But  if  we  were  to  live  in  Boston, 
where  less  would  be  expected  of  us,  we  could  manage, 
I  should  think,  on  ten." 

85 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Even  that  struck  me  as  too  much.  "On  five,  Hugh," 
I  declared,  with  confidence.  "I  know  I  could  manage 
on  five,  and  have  evetything  we  needed." 

He  smiled  at  my  eagerness.  "  Oh,  well,  darling,  I  sha'n't 
ask  you  to  come  down  to  that.    Ten  will  be  the  least." 

To  me  this  was  riches.  I  saw  the  vision  of  the  dainty 
dining-room  again,  and  the  nursery  with  the  bassinet; 
but  I  saw  Hugh  also  in  the  background,  a  little  shadowy, 
perhaps,  a  Uttle  like  a  dream  as  an  artist  embodies  it  in 
a  picture,  and  yet  unmistakably  himself.  I  spoke  re- 
servedly, however,  far  more  reservedly  than  I  felt,  be- 
cause I  hadn't  yet  made  my  point  quite  clear  to  him. 

"I'm  sure  we  could  be  comfortable  on  that.  When  you 
get  it—" 

I  hadn't  realized  that  this  was  the  detail  as  to  which 
he  was  most  sensitive. 

"There  you  go  again!  When  I  get  it!  Do  you  tliink 
I  sha'n't  get  it?" 

I  felt  my  eyebrows  going  up  in  surprise.  "Why,  no, 
Hugh,  dear.  I  suppose  you  know  what  you  can  get  and 
what  you  can't.  I  was  only  going  to  say  that  when  you 
do  get  it  I  Fhall  feel  as  if  you  were  free  to  give  yourself 
away,  and  that  I  shouldn't  have"— I  tried  to  smile  at 
him— "and  that  I  shouldn't  have  the  air  of— of  stealing 
you  from  your  family.  Can't  you  see,  dear?  You  keep 
quoting  Libby  Jaynes  at  me;  but  in  my  opinion  she  did 
steal  Tracy  Allen.  That  the  Aliens  have  made  the  best 
of  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  original  theft." 
"Theft  is  a  big  word." 

"Not  bigger  than  the  thing.     For  Libby  Jaynes  it  was 
possibly  all  right.     I'm  not  condemning  her.    But  it 
wouldn't  be  all  right  for  me." 
"Why  not?    What's  the  difference?" 
86 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"I  can't  explain  it  to  you,  Hugh,  if  you  don't  see  it 
alreijdy.    It's  a  difference  of  tradition." 

"But  what's  difference  of  tradition  got  to  do  with 
love?  Since  you  admit  that  you  love  me,  and  I  certainly 
love  you — " 

"Yes,  I  admit  that  I  love  you,  but  love  is  not  the  only 
thing  in  the  world." 

"It's  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world." 

"Possibly;  and  yet  it  isn't  necessarily  the  surest 
guide  in  conduct.  There's  honor,  for  instance.  If  one 
had  to  take  love  without  honor,  or  honor  without  love, 
surely  one  would  choose  the  latter." 

"And  what  would  you  call  love  without  honor  in  this 
case?" 

I  reflected.  "I'd  call  it  doing  this  thing — getting  en- 
gaged or  married,  whichever  you  like — ^just  because  we 
have  the  physical  power  to  do  it,  and  making  the  family, 
especially  the  father,  to  whom  you're  indebted  for  every- 
thing you  are,  unhappy." 

"He  doesn't  mind  making  you  and  me  unhappy." 

"But  that's  his  responsibility.  We  haven't  got  to  do 
what's  right  for  him;  we've  only  got  to  do  what's  right 
for  ourselves."  I  fell  back  on  my  maxim,  "If  we  do 
right,  only  right  will  come  of  it,  whatever  the  wrong  it 
seems  to  threaten  now." 

"But  if  I  made  ten  thousand  a  year  of  my  own — " 

"  I  should  consider  you  free.  I  should  feel  free  myself. 
I  should  feel  free  on  less  than  so  big  an  income." 

His  spirits  began  to  return. 

"I  don't  call  that  big.  We  should  have  to  pinch  like 
the  devil  to  keep  our  heads  above  water — no  motor — no 
butler—" 

"I've  never  had  either,"  I  smiled  at  him,  "nor  a  lot 

7  87 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


l!i' 


Not  having  therr 
You  can  bet 


of  the  things  that  go  with  thero. 
might  be  privations  to  you — " 

"Not  when  you  were  there,  little  AUx, 
your  sweet  life  on  that." 

We  laughed  together  over  the  expression,  and  as  Broke 
came  boui  ding  out  to  his  breakfast,  with  the  cry,  "Hello, 
Uncle  Hughie!"  we  lapsed  into  that  lantruage  of  signs  and 
nods  and  cryptic  tilings  which  we  mutually  understood 
to  elude  his  sharp  young  wits.  By  this  method  of  double 
entendre  Hugh  gave  me  to  understand  his  intention  of 
going  to  Boston  by  an  afternoon  train.  He  thought  it 
possible  he  might  stay  there.  The  friendliness  of  Cousin 
Andrew  Brew  would  probably  detain  him  till  he  should 
go  to  work,  which  was  likely  to  be  in  a  day  or  two.  Even 
if  he  had  to  wait  a  week  he  would  prefer  to  do  so  at  Boston, 
where  he  had  not  only  ties  of  blood,  but  acquaintances 
and  interests  dating  back  to  his  Harvard  days,  which  had 
ended  three  years  before. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  position  might  prove  to  be  pre- 
carious. He  recognized  that,  making  it  an  excuse  for 
once  more  forcing  on  me  his  immediate  protection.  Mar- 
riage was  not  named  by  word  on  Broke's  account,  but 
I  understood  that  if  I  chose  we  could  be  married  within 
an  hour  or  two,  go  to  Boston  together,  and  begin  our 
common  life  without  further  delays. 

My  answer  to  this  being  what  it  had  been  before,  we 
discussed,  over  the  children's  heads,  the  chances  that 
could  befall  me  before  night.  Of  these  the  one  most 
threatening  was  that  I  might  be  sent  away  in  disgrace. 
If  sent  away  in  disgrace  I  should  have  to  go  on  the  in- 
stant. I  might  be  paid  for  a  month  or  two  ahead;  it 
was  probable  I  should  be.  It  was  J.  Howard's  policy  to 
deal  with  his  cashiered  employees  with  that  kind  of 
88 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

liberality,  s  as  to  put  himself  more  in  the  right.  But 
I  should  h^  e  to  go  with  scarcely  the  time  to  pack  my 
boxes,  as  Hugh  had  gone  himself,  and  must  know  of  a 
place  where  I  could  take  shelter. 

I  didn't  know  of  any  such  refuge.  My  sojourn  under 
Mrs.  Rossiter's  roof  had  been  ntnarkably  free  fraoi  con- 
tacts or  curiosities  of  my  own.  Hugh  knew  no  more 
than  I.  I  could,  therefore,  only  ask  his  consent  to  my 
consulting  Mr.  Strangways,  a  proposal  to  which  he 
agreed.  This  I  was  able  to  do  when  Larry  came  for 
Broke,  not  many  minutes  after  Hugh  had  taken  his 
departtuv. 

I  could  talk  to  him  the  more  freely  because  of  his 
knowledge  of  my  relation  to  Hugh.  With  the  fact  that 
I  was  in  love  with  another  man  kept  well  in  the  fore- 
ground between  us,  he  could  acquit  me  of  those  ulterior 
designs  on  himself  the  suspicion  of  which  is  so  disturbing 
to  a  woman's  friendship  with  a  man.  As  the  maid  was 
clearing  the  table,  as  Broke  had  to  go  to  his  lessons,  as 
Gladys  had  to  be  remanded  to  the  nursery  while  I  attended 
to  Mre.  Rossiter's  telephone  calls  and  correspondence, 
our  talk  was  siiueezed  in  during  the  seconds  in  which  we 
retreated  through  the  dining-room  into  the  main  part 
of  the  house. 

"The  long  and  short  of  it  is,"  Larry  Strangways 
summed  up,  when  I  had  confided  to  him  my  fears  of 
being  sent  about  my  business  as  soon  as  Hugh  had 
left  for  Boston— "the  long  and  .he  sliort  of  it  is  that  I 
sliall  have  to  look  you  up  another  job." 

It  is  ahuost  absurd  to  point  out  that  the  idea  was  new 
to  me.    In  going  to  Mrs.  Rossiter  I  had  never  thought 
of  starting  out  on  a  career  of  earning  a  living  profession- 
ally, as  you  might  say.    I  clung  to  the  conception  of 
8» 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

myself  as  a  lady,  with  all  lorts  of  possibilities  in  the  way 
of  genteel  interventions  of  Providence  coming  in  between 
me  and  a  lifetime  of  work.  I  had  always  supposed  that 
if  I  left  Mrs.  Rossitcr  I  should  go  bade  to  my  uncle  and 
aunt  at  Halifax.  After  all.  if  Hugh  was  going  to  marry 
me,  it  would  be  no  more  than  conect  that  he  should  do 
it  from  under  their  wing.  Larry  Strangways's  suBgestiona 
of  another  job  threw  open  a  vista  of  places  I  should  fill 
in  the  future  little  short  of  appalling  to  a  woman  instinc- 
tively looking  for  a  man  to  come  and  support  her. 

I  shelved  these  considerations,  however,  to  say,  as 
casually  as  I  could:  "Why  should  you  do  it?  Why 
shouldn't  I  look  out  for  myself?" 

"Becaiise  when  I've  gone  to  Stacy  Grainger  it  may 
be  right  in  my  line." 
"But  I'd  rather  you  didn't  have  me  on  your  mind." 
He  laughed— uneasily,  as  it  seemed  to  me.    "Perhaog 
it's  too  late  for  that." 

It  was  another  of  the  things  I  was  sorry  to  hear  him 
wy.  I  could  only  reply,  stiU  on  the  forced  casual  note: 
"  But  it's  not  too  late  for  me  to  look  after  my  own  affairs. 
What  I'm  chiefly  concerned  with  is  that  if  I  have  to 
leave  here— to-night,  let  us  say— I  sha'n't  in  the  least 
know  where  to  go." 

He  was  ready  for  me  in  the  event  of  this  contingency. 
I  suspected  that  he  had  already  considered  it.    He  had  a 
married  sister  in  New  York,  a  Mrs.  Applegate,  a  woman 
of  philanthropic  interests,  a  director  on  the  board  of  a 
Home  for  Working-Girls.    Again  I  shied  at  the  word. 
He  must  have  seen  that  I  did.  for  he  went  on.  with  a  smile 
in  which  I  detected  a  gleam  of  mockery: 
"You  are  a  working-girl,  aren't  you?" 
I  answered  with  the  kind  of  humility  I  can  only  de- 
go 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

•cribo  as  spirited,  and  which  was  meant  to  take  the  wind 
out  of  his  sails: 

"I  suppose  so— as  long  as  I'm  working."  But  I  gave 
him  a  flying  upward  glance  as  I  asked  the  imprudent  ques- 
tion, "Is  that  how  you've  thought  of  me?" 

I  was  sorry  to  have  said  it  as  soon  as  the  words  were 
out.  I  didn't  want  to  know  what  he  thought  of  me.  It 
was  something  with  which  I  was  so  little  concerned  that 
I  colored  with  embarrassment  at  having  betrayed  so 
much  futile  curiosity.  Apparently  he  caw  that,  too, 
hastening  to  come  to  my  relief. 

"  I've  thoiitjht  of  you,"  he  laughed,  when  we  had  reached 
the  main  stairway,  "as  a  clever  little  v.onian,  with  a 
special  set  of  aptitudes  who  ought  to  be  earning  more 
money  than  she's  prot  Jy  getting  here;  and  when  I'm 
with  Stacy  Grainger — 

Grateful  for  this  turning  of  the  r  '•ent  into  the  busi- 
ness-like and  commonplace,  I  calk  '  Gladys,  who  was 
lagging  in  the  dining-room  with  Broice,  and  went  on  my 
way  up-stairs. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  her  breakfast  be- 
fore her  on  a  light  wicker  tray  that  stood  on  legs.  It 
was  an  abstemious  breakfast,  carefully  selected  from  f  jods 
containing  most  nutrition  with  least  adipose  deposit. 
She  had  reached  the  age,  within  sight  of  the  thirties,  when 
her  figure  was  becoming  a  matter  for  consideration.  It 
was  ahnost  the  only  personal  detail  as  to  v.hich  she  had 
as  yet  any  cause  for  anxiety.  Her  complexion  was  as 
bright  as  at  eighteen;  her  brown  hair,  which  now  hung 
in  a  loose,  heavy  coil  over  her  left  shoulder,  was  thick 
and  silky  and  long;  her  eyes  were  clear,  her  lips  ruby. 
I  always  noticed  that  she  waked  with  the  sleepy  softness 
of  a  flower  uncurling  to  the  sun.  In  the  great  wahiut 
91 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

bed,  of  which  the  curves  were  gilded  d  la  Louis  Qujnze, 
she  made  me  think  of  that  Jeanne  B&u  who  became 
Comtesse  du  Barry,  in  the  days  of  her  indolence  and 
luxury. 

Having  no  idea  as  to  how  she  would  receive  me,  I  was 
not  surprised  that  it  should  be  as  usual.  Since  I  had  en- 
tered her  employ  she  was  never  what  I  should  call  gra- 
cious, but  she  was  always  easy  and  familiar.  Sometimes 
she  was  petulant;  often  she  was  depressed;  but  beyond 
a  belief  that  she  inspired  tumultuous  passions  in  young 
men  there  was  no  pose  about  her  nor  any  haughtiness. 
I  was  not  afraid  of  her,  therefore;  I  was  only  uneasy  as 
to  the  degree  in  which  she  would  let  herself  be  used  against 
me  as  a  tool. 

"The  letters  are  here  on  the  bed,"  wa';  her  response  to 
my  greeting,  which  I  was  careful  to  make  in  the  form  in 
which  I  made  it  every  day. 

Taking  the  small  arm-chair  at  the  bedside,  I  sorted  the 
pile.  The  notes  she  had  not  glanced  at  for  herself  I  read 
aloud,  penciling  on  the  margins  the  data  for  the  answers. 
Some  I  replied  to  by  telephone,  which  stood  within  her 
reach  on  the  tabU  de  nuit;  for  a  few  I  sat  down  at  the 
desk  and  wrote.  I  was  doing  the  latter,  and  had  just 
scribbled  the  words  "Mrs.  James  Worthington  Rossiter 
will  have  much  pleasure  in  accepting—"  when  she  said, 
in  a  slightly  querulous  tone: 

"I  should  think  you'd  do  something  about  Hugh — the 
way  he  goes  on." 

I  continued  to  write  as  I  asked,  "How  does  he  go  on?" 

"Like  an  idiot." 

"Has  he  been  doing  anj'thing  new?" 

My  object  being  to  get  a  second  version  of  the  story 
Hugh  had  told  me,  I  succeeded.     Mrs.  Rossiter's  facts 
92 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

were  practically  the  same  as  her  brother's,  only  viewed 
from  a  different  angle.  As  she  presented  the  case  Hugh 
had  been  merely  preposterous,  dashing  his  head  against 
a  stone  wall,  with  nothing  he  could  gain  by  the  exercise. 

"The  idea  of  his  saying  he'll  not  go  to  the  Goldboroughs 
for  the  twelfth!  Of  course  he'll  go.  Since  father  means 
hitn  to  do  it,  he  will." 

I  was  addressing  an  envelope,  and  went  on  with  my 
task.    "But  I  thought  you  said  he'd  left  home?" 

"Oh,  well,  he'll  come  back." 

"But  suppose  he  doesn't?    Suppose  he  goes  to  work?" 

"Pff!    The  idea!    He  won't  keep  that  up  long." 

I  was  glad  to  be  sitting  with  my  back  to  her.  To  dis- 
guise the  quaver  in  my  voice  I  Ucked  the  flap  of  the  en- 
velope as  I  said: 

"But  he'll  have  to  if  he  means  to  support  a  wife." 

"  Support  a  wife  ?  What  nonsense !  Father  means  him 
to  marry  Cissie  Boscobel,  as  I've  told  you  already — and 
he'll  fix  them  up  with  a  good  income." 

"But  apparently  Hugh  doesn't  see  things  that  way. 
He's  told  me—" 

"Oh,  he'd  tell  you  anything." 

"He's  told  me,"  I  presisted,  boldly,  "that  he — he  loves 
me;  and  he's  made  me  say  that — that  I  love  him." 

"And  that's  where  you're  so  foolish,  dear  Miss  Adare. 
You  let  him  take  you  in.  It  isn't  that  he's  not  sincere; 
I  don't  say  that  for  a  minute.  But  people  can't  go  about 
marrying  every  one  they  love,  now  can  they?  I  should 
think  you'd  have  seen  that — ^with  the  heaps  of  men  you 
had  there  at  Halifax — ^hardly  room  to  step  over  them." 

I  said,  slyly,  "I  never  saw  them  that  way." 

"Oh,  well,  I  did.  And  by  the  way,  I  wonder  what's 
become  of  that  Captain  Venables.  He  was  a  case!  He 
93 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

could  take  more   liberties  in   a   half-hour— don't   jtou 
think?" 

"He  never  took  any  liberties  with  me." 

"Then  that  must  have  been  your  fault.  Talk  about 
Mr.  Malinger!  Our  men  aren't  in  it  with  yours — not 
when  it  comes  to  the  real  thing." 

I  got  back  to  the  subject  in  which  I  was  most  inter- 
ested by  saying,  as  I  spread  another  note  before  me: 

"  It  seems  to  be  the  real  thing  with  Hugh." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  it  is.  It  was  the  real  thing  with  Jack. 
I  don't  say" — her  voice  took  on  a  tender  tremolo— "I 
don't  say  that  it  wasn't  the  real  thing  with  me.  But 
that  didn't  make  any  difference  to  father.  It  was  the 
real  thing  with  Pauline  Gray — ^when  she  was  down  there 
at  Baltimore;  but  when  father  picked  her  out  for  Jack,  be- 
catxse  of  her  money  and  his  relations  with  old  Mr.  Gray — " 

I  couldn't  help  half  tmning  round,  to  cry  out  in  tones 
of  which  I  was  unable  to  conceal  the  exasperation:  "But 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  all  let  yourselves  be  hooked  by 
the  nose  like  that — not  even  by  Mr.  Brokenshire!" 

Her  fatalistic  resignation  gave  me  a  sense  of  help- 
lessness. 

"Oh,  well,  you  will  before  father  has  done  v.;th  you— if 
Hugh  goes  on  this  way.  Father's  only  plajdng  with  you 
so  far." 

"  He  can't  touch  me,"  I  declared,  indignantly. 

"But  he  can  touch  Hugh.  That's  all  he  needs  to 
know,  as  far  as  you're  concerned."  She  asked,  in  an- 
other tone,  "What  are  you  answering  now?" 

I  told  her  it  was  the  invitation  to  Mrs.  Allen's  dance. 

"Then  tear  it  up  and  say  I  can't  go.    Say  I've  a  pre- 
vious engagement.    I'd  forgotten  that  they  had  that 
odious  Mrs.  Tracy  Allen  there." 
9+ 


I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  tore  up  the  sheet  slowly,  throwing  the  fragments  into 
the  waste-paper  basket. 

"Why  is  she  odious?" 

"Because  she  is."  She  dropped  for  a  second  into  the 
tone  of  the  early  friendly  days  in  Halifax.  ' '  My  dear,  she 
was  a  shop-girl— or  worse.  I've  forgotten  what  she  was. 
but  it  was  awful,  and  I  don't  mean  to  meet  her  " 

I  began  to  write  the  refusal. 

"She  goes  about  with  very  good  people,  doesn't  she?" 

"She  doesn't  go  about  with  me,  nor  with  some  others 
I  know,  I  can  tell  you  that.    If  she  did  it  would  queer  us." 

In  the  hope  of  drawing  out  some  such  repudiation  as 
that  which  I  felt  myself,  I  said,  dryly:  "Hugh  tells  me 
that  if  I  married  him  I  could  be  as  gooid  as  she  is — ^by  this 
time  next  year." 

I  got  nothing  for  my  pains. 

"That  wouldn't  help  you  much — not  among  the  people 
who  count." 

There  was  white  anger  underneath  my  meekness. 

"But  perhaps  I  could  get  along  with  the  people  who 
don't  count." 

"Yes,  you  might— but  Hugh  wouldn't." 

She  dismissed  Hie  subject  as  one  in  which  she  took 
only  a  secondary  interest  to  say  that  old  Mrs.  Billing 
was  coming  to  lunch,  and  that  Gladys  and  I  should  have 
to  take  that  repast  up-stairs.  She  was  never  direct  in 
her  denunciations  of  her  father's  second  marriage.  She 
brought  them  in  by  reference  and  innuendo,  like  a  pris- 
oner who  keeps  in  mind  the  fact  that  walls  have  ears. 
She  gave  me  to  understand,  however,  that  she  considered 
Mrs.  Billing  a  witch  out  of  "Macbeth"  or  a  wicked  old 
vulture— I  could  take  my  choice  of  comparisons— and  she 
hated  having  her  in  the  house.  She  wouldn't  do  it  only 
9S 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^t  in  ways  Ae  could  harfly  understand,  Mrs.  BilUng 
was  the  power  behind  the  throne.  She  didn't  loathe  hef 
stepmother  she  said  in  eflfect.  so  much  as  she  iS  ^ 

JordT*'!!f-*°r^"^'^"-  11-- never  forgottS^T 
Inl  "^  f  *^  comiectioa.  dn>pping  her  voice  and 
glancmg  about  her,  afraid  she  might  be  overheard.  "It's 
as  rf  God  hmiself  had  become  the  slave  of  some  silly  hu! 
man  woman  just  because  she  had  a  pretty  face."  The 
sentence  not  only  betrayed  the  B^-kenshire  attitude  of 
mind  tow^d  J  Howard,  but  sent  a  chill  down  my  back! 

Having  finished  my  notes  and  addressed  them  I  rose  to 
return  to  Gladys;  but  there  was  still  an  unanswered  ques- 
sld^^heZr"-    ^-^«^'*-«^<^SforaminuteV 

"Then  you  don't  want  me  to  go  away?" 
^Jhe  arched  her  lovely  eyebrows.     "Go  away?    What 

"Because  of  the  danger  of  my  marrying  Hugh." 
thft  "  ^""^  ^  ^**^'  ^^-    "°^'  '^"^'^  °°  danger  of 

"But  there  is."  I  insisted.  "He's  asked  me  a  number 
rf  tmes  to  go  with  him  to  the  nearest  clergyman,  and 
settle  the  question  once  for  all." 

^nZ^^  ^°"  1°"'* '^° '*■  There  you  are!  What  father 
doesnt  want  doesn't  happen;  and  what  he  does  -^ 
does.    That's  all  there  is  to  be  said  " 


CHAPTER  VII 


AS  a  matter  of  fact,  that  was  all  Mrs.  Rossiter  and  I 
i\  did  say.  I  was  so  relieved  at  not  being  thrown  out 
of  house  and  home  on  the  instant  that  I  went  back  to 
Gladys  and  her  lisping  in  French  almost  cheerily.  You 
will  think  me  pusillanimous — and  I  was.  I  didn't  want 
to  go  to  Mrs.  Applegate  and  the  Home  for  Working- 
Girls.  As  far  as  food  and  shelter  were  concerned  I  liked 
them  well  enough  where  I  was.  I  liked  Mrs.  Rossiter 
too.  I  should  be  sorry  to  give  the  impression  that  she 
was  superdlious  or  unkind.  She  was  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  If  she  betrayed  little  sentiment  or  sympathy 
toward  me,  it  was  because  of  admitting  me  into  that 
fenjinine  freemasonry  in  which  the  emotional  is  not  called 
for.  I  might  suffer  while  she  remained  indifferent;  I 
might  be  killed  on  the  spot  while  she  wouldn't  shed  a 
tear;  and  yet  there  was  a  heartless,  good-natured,  Uve- 
and-let-live  detachment  about  her  which  left  me  with 
nothing  but  good-will. 

Then,  too,  I  knew  that  when  I  married  Hugh  she  woula 
do  nothing  of  her  own  free  will  against  me.  She  would 
not  brave  her  father's  decree,  but  she  wouldn't  be  in- 
tolerant; she  might  think  Hugh  had  been  a  fool,  but 
when  she  could  do  so  surreptitiously  she  would  invite 
him  and  me  to  diimer. 

As  this  was  a  kind  of  recognition  in  advance,  I  could 
not  be  otherwise  than  grateful. 
97 


jj^  I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

It  made  waiting  for  Hugh  the  easier.    I  calculated  that 

if  he  entered  into  some  sort  of  partnership  with  his  cousin 
Ancbew  Brew-I  didn't  in  the  least  know  what-we 
nught  be  married  within  a  month  or  two.  At  furthest  it 
nught  be  about  the  time  when  Mrs.  Rossiter  renuved 

to  New  York,  which  would  make  it  October  or  November 
I  could  then  slip  quietly  back  to  Halifax,  be  quietly  mar- 
ned,  and  quietly  settle  with  Hugh  in  Boston.  In  the 
mean  time  I  was  glad  not  to  be  disturbed. 

I  spent,  therefore,  a  pleasant  morning  with  my  pupil 
and  ate  a  pleasant  lunch,  watching  from  the  gable  win- 
dow of  the  school-room  the  great  people  assemble  in  the 
breakfast  loggia  m  honor  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour's 
mother.  I  am  not  sure  that  old  Madame  Poisson  ever 
vent  to  court;  but  if  she  did  I  know  the  courtiers  must 
have  shown  her  just  such  deference  as  that  which  Mrs. 
Rossiter's  guests  exhibited  to  this  withered  old  lady  with 
the  hooked  nose  and  the  lorgnette. 

I  was  curious  about  the  whole  entertainment.  It  was 
not  the  only  one  of  the  kind  I  had  seen  from  a  distance 
smce  coming  to  Mrs.  Rossiter,  and  I  couldn't  help  com- 
parisons with  the  same  kind  of  thing  as  done  in  the  ways 
with  which  I  was  familiar.  Here  it  was  less  a  luncheon 
thaix  It  was  an  exquisite  thing  on  the  stage,  rehearsed  to 
the  last  point.  In  England,  in  Canada,  luncheon  would 
bs  something  of  a  friendly  haphazard,  primarily  for  the 
sake  of  getting  food,  secondly  as  a  means  to  a  scrambling, 
jjlly  sort  of  social  intercourse,  and  hardly  at  all  a  cere^ 
momal.  Here  the  ceremouial  came  first.  Hostess  and 
guests  seemed  alike  to  be  taking  part  in  a  rite  of  seeing 
and  bemg  seen.  The  food,  which  was  probably  exceUent, 
<vas  a  matter  of  sUght  importance.  The  social  intercourse 
amounted  to  nothing,  since  they  all  knew  one  another  but 
98 


I  any 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

too  well,  and  had  no  urgent  vitality  of  interests 
case.  The  rite  was  the  thing.  Every  detail  was  prepared 
for  that.  Silver,  porcelain,  flowers,  doilies,  were  of  the 
most  expensive  and  the  most  correct.  The  guests  were 
jessed  to  perfection— a  Uttle  too  well,  according  to  the 
Enghsh  standard,  but  not  too  well  for  a  function.  As  a 
function  it  was  beautiful,  an  occasion  of  privilege,  a  prt)of 
of  attainment.  It  was  the  best  thing  of  its  kind  America 
could  show.  Those  who  had  money  could  alone  present 
the  pa^port  that  would  give  the  right  of  admission. 

If  I  had  a  criticism  to  make,  it  was  that  the  guests 
were  too  much  alike.    They  were  all  business  men.  and 
the  wives  or  widows  of  business  men.    The  two  or  three 
who   did   nothing   but  live  on  inherited  incomes  were 
busm^  men  in  heart  and  in  blood.    Granted  that  in  the 
New  World  the  business  man  must  be  dominant,  it  was 
possible  to  have  too  much  of  him.'    Having  too  much  of 
han  lowered  the  standard  of  interest,  narrowed  the  drde 
of   taste.    In   the  countries  I  knew  the  business  man 
might  be  present  at  such  a  festivity,  but  there  would 
be  aanetiung  to  give   him  color,  to   throw   him   into 
tehef.    There  would  be  a  touch  of  the  creative  or  the 
mtellectual,  of   (he  spiritual  or  the   picturesque     The 
comjMny   wouldn't   be   all   of    a    gilded   drab.    There 
would  be  a  wnter  or  a  painter  or  a  politician  or  an  actor 
or  a  soldier  or  a  priest.    There  would  be  something  that 
wasnt  money  before  it  was  anything  else.    Here  there 
was  nothing.    Birds  of  a  feather  were  flocking  together 
and  they  were  all  parrots  or  parrakeets.    They  had 
^umage,  but  no  song.    They  drove  out  the  thrushes  and 
the  larks  and  the  wild  swans.    Their  shrill  screeches  and 
hoaree  shouts  came  up  in  a  not  whoUy  pleasant  babel 
to  the  open  window  where  I  sat  looking  down  and  Gladvs 
99 


THE   HIGH    HEART 

hovwred  and  hopped,  wondering  if  Thomas,  the  nty- 
cheekad  footman,  would  remember  to  bring  tu  some  of 
the  left-over  ice-cream. 

I  thought  it  was  a  pity.    With  elements  as  good  as 
could  be  found  anywhere  to  form  a  Sodety^-that  fusion 
of  all  varieties  of  achievement  to  which  alone  the  word 
written  with  a  capital  can  be  applied— there  was  no  one 
to  form  it.    It  was  a  woman's  business;  and  for  the  r61e 
of  hostess  in  the  big  sense  the  American  woman,  as  far 
as  I  could  judge,  had  little  or  no  aptitude.    She  was  too 
timid,  too  distrustful  of  herself,  too  much  afraid  of  doing 
the  wrong  thing  or  of  knowing  the  wrong  people.    She 
was  so  little  sure  of  her  standing  that,  as  Mis.  Rossiter 
expressed  it,  she  could  be  "queered"  by  shaking  hands 
with  Libby  Jaynes.    She  lacked  authority.    She  could 
stand  ouc  in  a  throng  by  her  dr«s  or  hei-  grace,  but  she 
couldn't  lead  or  combine  or  co-ordinate.    She  coidd  lend 
a  charming  hand  where  some  one  else  was  the  Lady  Hol- 
land or  the  Mad-une  de  Stael,  but  she  couldn't  take  the 
seemingly  heterogeneous  types  represented  by  the  writer, 
the  painter,  the  politician,  the  actor,  the  soldier,  the 
priest,  and  the  business  man  and  weld  them  into  the  de- 
lightful, promiscuous,  entertaining  whole  to  be  found,  in 
its  greater  or  lesser  degree,  according  to  size  or  importance 
of  place,  almost  anywhere  within  the  borders  of  the  Brit- 
ish Empire.    I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  why 
there  were  few  "great  houses"  in  America  and  fewer 
women  of  importance. 

It  was  why,  too,  the  guests  were  subordinated  to  the 
ceremonial.  It  couldn't  be  any  other  way.  With  flint 
and  steel  you  can  get  a  spark;  but  where  you  have  noth- 
ing but  flint  or  nothing  but  steel,  friction  produces  no 
light.    The  American  hostess,  in  so  far  as  she  exists,  rare- 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

ly  hopes  for  anything  from  the  clash  of  minds,  and  there- 
fore centers  her  attention  on  her  doilies.    It  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  she  has  the  most  tasteful  doUies  in  the  world. 
There  is  a  pathos  in  the  way  in  which,  for  want  of  the 
courage  to  get  interesting  human  specimens  together, 
Ae  spends  her  strength  on  the  detaUs  of  her  rite.    It  is 
like  the  instinct  of  women  who  in  default  of  babies  lavish 
their  passion  on  little  dogs.    One  can  say  that  it  is  faute 
dt  mieux.    Fauie  de  mieux  was,  I  am  sure,  the  reason 
why  Ethel  Rossiter  took  her  table  appointments  with  what 
seemed  to  me  such  extraordinary  seriousness.  When  all  was 
said  ana  done  it  was  the  only  real  thing  to  care  about. 
I  repeat  tUt  I  thought  it  was  a  pity.    I  had  dreams 
as  I  looked  down,  of  what  I  could  do  with  the  same  us^ 
of  money,  the  same  position  of  command.    1  had  dreams 
that  the  Brokenshires  accepted  me,  that  Hugh  came  into 
the  means  that  would  be  his  in  the  ordinary  course.     I 
saw  myself  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  of  a  fine 
big  house  in  Washington  or  New  York.    People  were 
streaming  upward,  and  I  was  shaking  hands  with  a  de- 
hghtful,  smiling  disinvolture.    I  saw  men  and  womv.n  of 
all  the  ranks  and  orders  of  conspicuous  accomplishment, 
each  contributing  a  gift— somo  nothing  but  beauty,  some 
nothing  but  wit,  some  nothing  but  money,  some  nothing 
but  position,  some  nothing  but  fame,  some  nothing  but 
national  importance.    The  Brokenshire  clan  was  there, 
and  the  Billings  and  the  Grays  and  the  Burkes;  but  states^ 
men  and  diplomatists,  too,  were  there,  and  those  leaders 
in  the  worid  of  the  pen  and  the  brush  and  the  buskin  of 
whom,  oddly  enough,  I  saw  Larry  Strangways,  with  his 
eternal  defensive  smile,  emerging  from  the  crowd  as  chief. 
I  was  wearing  diamonds,  black  velvet,  and  a  train,  wav- 
ing in  my  disengaged  hand  a  spangled  fan. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

From  these  visions  I  was  roused  by  Gladys,  who  came 
prancing  from  the  stair-head. 

"  V'ld,  Mademoisttttl    VUt  Thomas  it  U  ict-ertamt" 

Having  consumed  this  dainty,  we  watched  the  com- 
pany wander  about  the  terraces  and  lawns  and  finally 
drift  away.  I  was  getting  Gladys  ready  for  her  walk 
when  Thomas,  with  a  pitying  expression  on  his  boyish 
face,  came  back  to  say  that  Mr.  Brokenshire  would  like 
to  speak  with  me  down-stairs. 

I  was  never  so  near  fainting  in  my  life.  I  had  barely 
the  strength  to  gasp,  "Very  well,  Thomas,  I'll  come,"  and 
to  send  Gladys  to  her  nurse.  Thomas  watched  me  with 
his  good,  kind,  sympathetic  eyes.  Like  ihe  other  ser- 
vants, he  must  have  known  something  of  my  secret  and 
was  on  my  side.  I  called  him  the  bouton  dt  rose,  partly 
because  his  clean,  pink  cheeks  suggested  a  Killamey 
breaking  into  flower,  and  partly  because  in  his  waiting 
on  Gladys  and  me  he  had  the  yearning,  care-taking  air 
of  a  fatherly  little  boy.  Just  now  he  could  only  march 
down  the  passage  ahead  of  me,  throw  open  the  door  of 
my  bedroom  as  if  he  was  lord  chamberlain  to  a  queen, 
and  give  me  a  look  which  seemed  to  say,  "If  I  can  be  your 
liege  knight  against  this  giant,  pray,  dear  lady,  command 
me."  I  threw  him  my  thanks  in  a  trumped-up  smile, 
which  he  retaimed  with  such  sweet  encouragement  as  to 
nearly  unman  me. 

I  stayed  in  my  room  only  long  enough  to  be  sure  that 
I  was  neat,  smoothing  my  hair  and  picking  one  or  two 
threads  from  my  white-linen  suit.  The  suit  had  scarlet 
cuffs  and  a  scarlet  belt,  and  as  there  was  a  scarlet  flush 
beneath  my  summer  tan,  like  the  color  under  the  glaze 
of  a  Chinese  jar,  I  could  see  for  myself  that  my  appear- 
ance was  not  ineffective. 

I03 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

The  boHUm  dt  ros0  wat  in  waiting  at  tht  foot  of  the 
•tain  as  I  «me  down.  Through  the  haU  and  the  dininjf. 
room  he  ushered  me  ro^^aUy;  but  as  I  came  out  on  the 
breakfast  loggia  my  r  alty  stopped  with  what  I  can  only 
descnbe  as  a  bump.  ' 

1  I^u  ^^J  ^^  ^°^-  ^^  ^  ^^^y  nmained.  Tbe 
aT.?^..  ""*  ^^^^  °^  **•*  "*«  "«"  also  on  the  table 
All  the  doUies  were  there,  and  the  magnificent  lace  center- 
piece which  Mrs.  Rossiter  had  at  various  times  called  on 
me  to  admire.  The  old  Spode  dessert  service  was  the 
more  dimly,  anciently  brilliant  because  of  the  old  polished 
oak,  and  so  were  the  glasses  and  finger-bowls  picked  out 
m  gold. 

Mr.  Brokenshire,  whom  I  had  seen  from  my  window 
stooUinc  with  some  ladies  on  the  lawn,  had  returned  to 
ttte  fo<.t  of  the  table,  opposite  to  the  door  by  which  I 
came  out.  where  he  now  sat  in  a  careless,  sidewise  attitude, 
fingmng  his  cigar.  Old  Mrs.  Billing,  who  was  beside  him 
on  his  right,  put  up  her  lorgnette  immediately  I  appeared 
intheentrance.  Mrs.  Rossiter  had  dropped  into  a  chance 
diaxr  h^-way  down  the  table  or  the  left;  but  Mrs 
Brokenshire.  oddly  enough,  was  in  that  same  seat  in  the 
fer  comer  to  which  she  had  retreated  on  the  occasion 
rt^  my  summoning  ten  days  before.  I  wondered  whether 
this  was  by  intention  or  by  chance,  though  I  was  pres- 
ently to  know. 

Terrified  though  I  was,  I  felt  salvation  to  lie  in  keeping 
a  certain  dignity.  I  made,  therefore,  something  between 
t,  J^  ^  courtesy,  first  to  Mr.  Brokenshire,  then  to 
Mrs  BiUing,  then  to  Mrs.  Rossiter,  and  lastly  to  Mrs. 
Brokenshire,  to  whom  I  raised  my  eyes  and  looked  all 
the  way  diagonaUy  across  the  loggia.  I  took  my  time 
m  makmg  these  four  distinct  salutations,  though  in  re- 
8  103 


pi 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

»pon»e  I  wu  only  nand  at  After  that  then  was  a 
space  J  Mme  seoonda  in  which  I  merely  itood,  in  my  poae 
of  Ecci  Fe  tiinat  ^^ 

"Sit  down!" 

The  command  came,  of  course,  from  J.  Howard.    The 
chair  to  which  I  had  once  before  been  banished  being  still 
m  Its  comer,  I  slipped  into  it. 
"I  wished  to  speak  to  you.  Miss— a— Mis*—" 
He  glanced  helplessly  toward  his  daughter,  who  sup- 
plied  the  name. 

"Ah  yes.    I  wished  to  speak  to  you.  Miss  Adare,  be- 
cause my  son  has  been  acting  very  foolishly." 

I  made  my  tone  as  meek  as  I  could,  scarcely  d-  ing  to 
lift  my  ey^  from  the  floor.  "Wouldn't  it  be  well,  sir 
to  talk  to  him  about  that?" 

Mrs.  BiUing's  lorgnette  came  down.    She  glanced  tow- 
ard  her  son-in-law  as  though  finding  the  point  weU  taken. 
He  went  on  imperturbably.    "I've  said  all  I  mean 
to  say  to  him.    My  present  appeal  is  to  you." 
"Oh,  then  this  is  an — appeal?" 
He  seemed  to  hesitate,  to  reflect.    "If  you  choose  to 
take  it  so,"  he  admitted,  stiffly. 

"It  surely  isn't  as  I  choose  to  take  it,  sir;  it's  as  you 
choose  to  mean." 
"Don't  landy  words." 

"But  I  must  use  words,  sir.  I  only  want  lO  be  sure 
that  you're  making  an  appeal  to  me,  and  not  giving  me 
commands." 

He  spoke  sharply.  '  I  wish  you  to  understand  that 
you're  inducing  a  younj,  man  to  act  in  a  way  he  is  going 
to  find  contrary  to  his  interests." 

I  could  barely  nerve  myself  to  look  up  at  him.     "If 
by  the  'young  man'  you  mean  Mr.  Hugh  Brokenshinj, 
104 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

then  I'm  ifldudng  Um  to  do  nothing  whatever;  unleM," 
I  added,  "you  call  it  an  inducement  that  I— I"— I  was 
bound  to  force  the  word  out— "unlesa  you  caU  it  an 
inducement  that  I  love  him." 

"But  that's  it,"  Mrs.  Rossiter  broke  in.  "That's  what 
my  father  means.  If  you'd  stop  caring  anything  about 
him  you  wouldn't  give  him  encouragement." 

I  looked  at  her  with  a  dim,  apologetic  smile.  It  was  a 
tune,  I  felt,  to  speak  not  only  with  more  courage,  but  with 
more  sentiment  than  I  was  accustomed  to  use  in  ex- 
pressing myself. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  give  my  heart,  and  take  it  back 
like  that." 

"I  can,"  she  returned,  readily.  She  spoke  as  if  it  was 
a  matter  of  cracking  her  knuckles  or  wagging  her  ears. 
"If  I  don't  want  to  like  a  person  I  don't  do  it.  It's 
training  and  self-command." 

"You're  fortunate,"  I  said,  qu=r,tly.  Why  I  should 
have  glanced  again  at  Mrs..Bro'<tashire  I  hardly  know; 
but  I  did  so,  as  I  addea:  "I've  had  no  training  of  that 
kind— and  I  doubt  if  many  women  have." 

Mrs.  Brokenshire,  who  was  gazing  at  me  with  the  same 
kmd  of  fascinated  stare  as  on  the  former  occasion,  faintly, 
but  quite  perceptibly,  inclined  her  head.  In  this  move- 
ment I  was  sure  I  had  the  key  to  the  mystery  that  seemed 
to  sumnmd  her. 

"All  this,"  J.  Howard  declared,  magisterially,  "is  be- 
side the  point.  If  you've  told  my  son  that  you'd  marri- 
him — " 

"I  haven't." 

''Or  even  given  him  to  understand  that  you  would—" 

"I've  only  given  him  to  understand  that  I'd  marry 
him — on  conditions." 

los 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


And  would  it  be  discreet  on  my  part  to 
tenns  you've  been  kind   enough  to  lay 


"Indeed? 
inquire  the 
down?" 

I  pulled  myself  together  and  spoke  finnly.    "The  fct 
IS  that  I U  marry  him-if  his  family  come  to  me  and  «c. 

^a\T    1°,!^''^  """^^  ^"^  ^d  a  daughter." 

Old  Mrs.  Bdlmg  emitted  the  queer,  cracked  cackle  of 
a  hen  when  it  crows,  but  she  put  up  her  lorgnette  and 
exammed  me  more  closely.  Ethel  Rossiter  gasped  audi- 
Wy,  moving  her  cnan-aUttle  farther  nwnd  in  my  direction. 
Mre.Brokemh.re  stared  with  concentrated  intensity,  but 
somehow,  I  didn't  toow  why,  I  felt  that  she  was  baclin^ 
me  up.  -v-^-uifi 

^The  great  man  contented  himself  with  saying.  "  Oh,  you 

I  i  'T't  *^^*"v^  to  speak  with  a  decision  and  a  spirit 
I  was  far  from  feeling. 

''Yes,  sir,  I  will.    I  shaU  not  steal  him  fi«m  you- 
not  so  long  as  he's  dependent." 
"That's  very  kind.    And  may  I  ask—" 
;;  You  haven't  let  me  tell  you  my  other  condition." 
Irue.    Go  on." 

I  pMted  the  words  out  as  best  I  could.    "I've  told 

,yT      J^^-  ^^"^^  ^^  "^^^^  ^^""^  independent; 

"  i  tf"**"^        °^  """"^y  ^^  ^'^'^^  a  man." 
Ah!    And  you  expect  one  or  the  other  of  these 
miracles  to  take  place?" 

"I  expect  both." 

Though  the  words  uttered  themselves,  without  calcu- 
Ution  or  expectation  on  my  part,  they  gave  me  so  much 
of  the  courage  of  conviction  that  I  held  up  my  head 

I°Zh'^r  ^^-  ^""°^  '"^'*  "°^  ^^^  °^  «>  "^^ 

as  laugh.    She  only  gasped  out  that  long  "Ha-a!"  which 
io6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

procUims  the  sporting  interest,  of  which  both  Hugh  and 
Ethel  Rossiter  had  told  me  in  the  morning. 

Mr.  Brokenshire  seemed  to  brace  himself,  leanine  for- 
ward, with  his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his  cigar  between 
the  fingere  of  his  raised  right  hand.  His  eyes  were  bent 
on  me-fine  eyes  they  were!-as  if  in  kinay  amuse- 
ment. '  """°^ 

"My  good  girl,"  he  said,  in  his  most  pitying  voice  "I 
wdi  I  could  tell  you  how  sorry  for  you  I  am.    Neither 
Of  these  dreams  can  possibly  come  true—" 
My  blood  being  up,  I  interrupted  with  some  force. 

Then  m  that  case,  Mr.  Brokenshire,  you  can  be  quite 
^  m  your  mind,  for  I  should  never  marry  your  son  " 
Haymg  made  this  statement,  I  foUowed  it  up  by  saying 

Smce  that  is  understood.  I  presume  there's  no  objert 
m  my  staying  any  longer."  I  was  half  rising  when  his 
hand  went  u^;  t.  "« 

"Wait.    We'll  tell  you  when  to  go.    You  haven't  yet 
got  my  point.    Perhaps  I  haven't  made  it  clear.    I'm 
not  mterested  in  your  hopes — " 
"No.  sir;  of  course  not;  nor  I  in  yours." 
"1  haven't  inquired  as  to  that— but  we'll  let  it  pass. 
We  re  both  apparently  interested  in  my  son." 
I  gave  a  little  bow  of  assent. 
'  I  said  I  wished  to  make  an  appeal  to  you." 
I  made  another  little  bow  of  assent. 
"It's  on  his  behalf.    You  could  do  him  a  great  kind- 
ness.   You  could  make  him  understand— I  gather  that 
he  s  under  your  influence  to  some  degree;  you're  a  clever 
^1,  I  can  see  that— but  you  could  make  him  understand 
that  m  fancying  he'll  marry  you  he's  starting  out  on  a 
task  m  which  there's  no  hope  whatever  " 
"But  there  is." 

107 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

T^^^\J^?^'^  ^"^  ^""^  conditions  that  wiU  never  be 
luinilea. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 

"My  knowledge  of  the  world." 

"Oh,  but  would  you  call  that  knowledge  of  the  world?" 
I  was  swept  along  by  the  force  of  an  inner  indignation 
which  had  b.-come  reckless.  "Knowledge  of  the  world," 
Ihumedon,  unpUes  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and 
you  ve  none  of  that  at  all."  I  could  see  him  flush 
My  good  girl,  we're  here  to  speak  of  you,  not  of 

"Surely  we're  here  to  speak  of  us  both,  since  at  any 
mmute  I  choose  I  can  marry  your  son.  If  I  don't 
niany  hmi  it's  because  I  don't  choose;  but  when  I 
do  choose — 

Again  the  hand  went  up.  "Yes.  of  course;  but  that's 
not  what  we  want  specially  to  hear.  Let  us  assume  as 
you  say,  that  you  can  marry  my  son  at  any  time  you 
choose.  You  don't  choose,  for  the  reason  that  you're 
astute  enough  to  see  that  your  last  state  would  be  woim 

than  the  first.    To  enter  a  family  that  would  disown  you 
at  once —  ' 

I  kept  down  my  tone,  though  I  couldn't  master  my 
excit«nent.  "That's  not  my  reason.  If  I  don't  ma  J 
him  It  s  precisely  because  I  have  the  power.  There  are 
peopl^wards  they  are  at  heart,  as  a  nil^who  be- 
cause they  have  the  power  use  it  to  be  insolent,  especially 
to  those  who  are  weaker.  I'm  not  one  of  those.  There's 
a  noblesse  oblige  that  compels  one  in  spite  of  everything 
In  deahng  with  an  elderly  man,  who  I  suppose  loves  h^ 
«m,  and  with  a  lady  who's  been  so  kind  to  me  as  Mra 
Kossiter — " 

io8 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


There's  no 


"You've  been  hired,  and  you're  paid, 
special  call  for  gratitude." 

y.h^^^!^  ^  ^"^  P^^  '^°  ^^  't;  »«t  that  isn't 
'vhat  I  speaally  want  to  say." 

;;;n^t  you  spedaUy  want  to  say  apparently  i^" 
lh£  I  m  not  afraid  of  you,  sir;  I'm  not  afraid  of 
yo^fanuly  or  your  money  or  your  position  or  anvthii 
or  any  one  you  can  control.  If  I  don't  many  Hugh  J?s 
for  the  reason  that  I've  given,  and  for  noS.  As  W 
as  he  s  dependent  on  your  money  I  shall  not  many  him 
m  ^_come  and  beg  me  to  do  it^-aad  that  I  shall  atpect 

to^fi^'""''^-    "T^*-'tai  you've  brought  us 

I  could  barely  pipe,  but  I  stood  to  my  guns.    "If  you 

hke  the  expression,  sii-yes.    I  shall  not  many  Hueh- 

^te>g  as  you  support  him-^iU  I've  brought  you  to  your 

If  I  expected  the  heavens  to  fall  at  this  I  was  disao- 
pomted.  M  J.  Howard  did  was  to  lean  on  L^  to^ 
arfMrs.BUhngandtalktoherprivatdy.  Mrs.  Rossi^ 
g^p  and  went  to  her  father,  entering  also  into  a  whis- 
P^  coUoquy.  Once  or  twic*  he  glanced  backward  to 
h^  wrfe,  but  she  was  now  gazing  sidewise  in  the  direction 
of  the  house  and  over  the  lines  of  flowers  that  edged  the 
terraces.  ^ 

T  ^""^f  ■/°^'^  ^  S°°«  •'^  to  her  seat,  and 
J^  Howard  had  r^sed  himself  from  his  conversation  with 
Mrs  BiUmg,  he  began  again  to  address  me  tranquilly 
fnr  i  r^  y?"  "nigtt  have  sympathized  with  my  hopes 
for  Hugh  and  have  helped  to  convince  him  how  uselS 
lus  plans  for  a  maniage  between  him  and  you  must  be  " 
I  answered  with  decision:  "No;  I  can't  do  that." 
log 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"I  should  have  appreciated  it — " 
"That  I  can  quite  understand." 
"And  some  day  have  shown  you  that  I'm  actine  for 
your  good."  ^ 

"Oh,  sir,"  I  cried,  "whatever  else  you  do,  you'U  let 
my  good  be  my  own  aflFair,  will  you  not?" 

I  thought  1  heard  Mrs.  Billing  say,  "Brava!"  '  At  any 
rate,  she  tapped  her  fingers  together  as  if  in  applause.  I 
b««an  to  feel  in  a  more  lenient  spirit  toward  her. 

"I'm  quite  willing  to  do  that,"  my  opponent  Si  i  in  a 
moderate,  long-sufiering  tone,  "now  that  I  see  that  you 
refuse  to  take  Hugh's  good  into  consideration.  So  long 
^.y^  «n««rage  him  in  his  present  madness—" 

"I'm  not  doing  that." 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption.     "—I'm  obUged 
to  regard  him  as  nothing  to  me." 
['That  must  be  between  you  and  your  son." 
"It  is.    I'm  only  asking  you  to  note  that  you— ruin 

"No,  no,"  I  began  to  protest,  but  he  sUenced  me  with 
a  movement  of  his  hand. 

"I'm  not  a  haid  man  naturally,"  he  went  on,  in  his 
tranquil  voice,  "but  I  have  to  be  obeyed." 

"Why?"  I  demanded.  "Why  should  you  be  obeyed 
more  than  any  one  else?" 

"Because  I  mean  to  be.    That  must  be  enough—" 

_     'But  It  isn't,"  I  insisted.     "I've  no  intention  of  obey- 
mc  you—"  ■■ 

He  broke  in  with  some  haste:  "Oh,  there's  no  question 
of  you,  my  dear  young  lady.  I've  nothing  to  do  with  you 
I  m  speaking  of  my  son.  He  must  obey  me,  or  take  the 
consequences.  And  the  consequences  will  last  as  long  as 
he  hves.  I'm  not  one  to  speak  rashly,  or  to  speak  twice, 
no 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

So  that's  what  I'm  putting  to  you.  Do  you  think-do 
you  honestly  think-that  you're  improving  your  position 
by  rummg  a  man  who  sooner  or  latei-^ooner  rather  than 
later— wiU  lay  his  ruin  at  your  door  and  loathe  you? 
Come  now!  You're  a  clever  girl.  The  case  is  by  no 
means  beyond  you.    Think,  and  think  straight." 

'I  am  thinking,  sir.    I'm  thinking  so  straight  that  I 
see  right  through  you.    My  father  used  to  say—" 
"No  reminiscence,  please." 

"Very  well,  then;  we'll  let  the  reminiscence  go.  But 
you  re  thinking  of  committing  a  crime,  a  crime  against 
Hugh,  a  cnme  against  yourself,  a  crime  against  love 
every  kind  of  love-and  that's  the  worst  crime  of  all- 
and  you  haven't  the  moral  courage  to  shoulder  the  guilt 
yourself;  you're  trying  to  shuffle  it  oflE  on  me." 
"  My  good  woman — " 

But  nothing  could  silence  me  now.  I  leaned  forward, 
mth  hands  clasped  in  my  lap,  and  merely  looked  at  him. 
My  voice  was  low,  but  I  spoke  rapidly: 

"You're  talking  to  bewilder  me,  to  throw  dust  in  my 
eyes,  to  snare  me  into  taking  the  blame  for  what  you're 
domg  of  your  own  free  act.     It's  a  kind  of  reasoning  whidi 
some  girls  would  be  caught  by,  but  I'm  not  one  of  than 
U  Hugh  IS  ruined  in  the  sense  you  mean,  it's  his  father 
who  will  rum  him-but  even  that  is  not  the  worst.  What's 
worst,  what's  dastardly,  what's  not  merely  unwort:hy  of 
a  man  like  you  but  unworthy  of  any  man-of  anything 
that  caUs  itself  a  mal^is  that  you,  with  all  your  r^ 
sources  of  every  '-ind,  should  try  to  foist  your  responsi- 
bilities OflE  on  a  woman  who  has  no  resources  whatever 
That  I  shouldn't  have  believed  of  any  of  your  sex— if  it 
liadn't  happened  to  myself." 
But  my  eloquence  left  him  as  unmoved  as  before.    He 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

whispered  with  Mrs.  Billing.    The  old  lady  was  animated. 
maJcmg  beats  and  lunges  with  her  lorgnette. 

"So  that  what  it  comes  to,"  he  said  to  me  at  last,  lifting 
himself  up  and  speaking  in  a  tired  voice,  "is  that  you  really 
mean  to  pit  yourself  against  me. " 

"  No,  sir;  but  that  you  mean  to  pit  yourself  against  me  " 
Soinething  compeUed  me  to  add:  "And  I  can  teU  you  no-.v 
that  you  11  be  beaten  in  the  end." 

Perhaps  he  didn't  hear  me,  for  he  rose  and,  stooping,  car- 
ned  cm  his  discussion  with  Mrs.  Billing.  There  was  a  lono 
penod  m  which  no  one  paid  any  further  attention  to  my 
presence;  m  fact,  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  me  any 
more.  To  my  last  words  I  expected  some  retort,  but  none 
came.  Ethel  Rossiter  joined  her  father  at  the  end  of  the 
table,  and  when  Mrs.  Billing  also  rose  the  conversation 
went  on  d  tr<Ks.  Mrs.  Brokenshire  alone  remained  seated 
and  aloof. 

But  the  moment  came  when  her  husband  turned  toward 
her.  Not  having  been  dismissed.1  merely  stood  and  looked 
on.  What  I  saw  then  passed  quickly,  so  quickly  that  it 
took  a  mmute  of  reflection  before  I  could  put  two  and  two 
together. 

Having  taJcen  one  step  toward  his  -vife,  Howard  Broken- 
^  stood  stm,  abruptly,  putting  his  hand  suddenly  to 
ttie  left  side  of  his  face.    His  wife,  too,  put  up  her  hand 
but  pahn  outward  and  as  if  to  wave  him  back     At  the 
same  time  she  averted  her  f  ace^nd  I  knew  it  was  his  eye 

It  was  over  before  either  of  „he  other  two  women  per- 
ceived anything.  Presently,  all  four  were  out  on  the  grass, 
strolling  along  in  a  Uttle  chattering  group  together.  My 
dismissal  havmg  come  automatically,  as  you  might  sav 
I  was  free  to  go.  ^        ' 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN  hour  later  I  had  what  up  to  then  I  must  caU  the 
greatest  surprise  of  my  life. 
I  was  crying  by  myself  on  the  shore,  in  that  secluded 
comer  Miong  the  rocks  where  Hugh  had  first  told  me  that 
he  loved  me.    As  a  rule,  I  don't  cry  easily.    I  did  it  now 
chiefly  from    being    overwrought.    I   was  desolate     I 
mssedHugh.     The  few  days  or  few  weeks  that  must  pass 
before  I  could  see  him  again  stretched  before  me  like  a  cen- 
toy.    All  whom  I  could  call  my  own  were  so  far  away 
Even  had  they  been  near,  they  would  probably,  with  the 
mdividuahsm  of  our  race,  have  left  me  to  shift  for  myself 
Louise  and  Victoria  had  always  given  me  to  understand 
that,  though  they  didn't  mind  lending  me  an  occasional 
asterly  hand,  my  Ufe  was  my  own  affair.    It  would  have 
be^  a  reUef  to  talk  the  whole  thing  out  philosophically 
with  Larry  Strangways.    As  I  came  from  the  house  I  tried 
for  the  first  time  since  knowing  him,  to  throw  myself  in  hi^ 
path;  but,  as  usual  when  one  needs  a  friend,  he  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

I  could,  therefore,  only  scramble  down  to  my  favorite 
comer  among  the  rocks.  Not  that  it  was  really  a  scram- 
ble. As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  path  was  easy  if  you  knew 
where  to  find  it;  but  it  was  hidden  from  the  ordinary 
passer  on  the  Cliff  Walk,  first  by  a  boulder,  round  which 
you  had  to  sUp,  and  then  by  a  tangle  of  wild  losebiaes, 
113 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

wild  raspbcmes,  and  Queen  Anne's  lace.  It  was  aome- 
thing  Idee  a  secret  door,  known  only  to  the  Rossiter  house- 
hold, their  servante.  and  their  friends.    Once  you  had 

passed  It  you  had  a  measure  of  the  public  privacy  yon  Bet 
ma  box  at  the  theater  or  the  opera.  You  had  space  Mid 
ease  and  a  wide  outlook,  with  no  fear  of  intrusion 

I  cannot  say  that  I  was  unhappy.  I  was  rather  in  that 
state  of  mind  which  the  American  people,  with  its  gift 
for  the  happy,  unexpected  word,  have  long  spoken  of  as 
m^-  I  was  certainly  mad.  I  wasmad  with  J.  How- 
ard  Brokenshire  first  of  aU ;  I  was  mad  with  his  family  for 
hawig  got  up  and  left  me  without  so  much  as  a  nod:  I  wai 
mad  with  Hugh  for  having  made  me  fall  in  love  with  him- 
I  was  mad  with  Larry  Strangways  for  not  having  been  on 
aie  spot;  and  I  was  most  of  all  mrd  with  myself.  I  had 
been  boastful  and  bumptious;  I  had  been  disrespectful  and 
absurf.  It  was  foolish  to  make  worse  enemies  than  I  had 
abeady.    Mrs.  Rossiter  wouldn't  keep  me  now.    There 

■nie  still  summer  beauty  of  the  afternoon  added  to  my 
wretchedness.  All  round  and  before  me  there  was  hixury 
andjoyousness  and  sport.  The  very  sea  was  in  a  playftd 
mood,  lappag  at  my  feet  like  a  tamed,  affectionate  levia- 
than, and  curling  round  the  ledges  in  the  oflSng  with  deli- 
^*l^^  ^P<^*^  °l  sp^e.  Sea-gulls  swooped  and 
hovered  with  hoarse  cries  and  a  lovely  effect  of  silver- 
ynas^  Here  and  there  was  a  sail  on  the  blue,  or  the  smoke 
Q^  a  steamer  or  a  war-ship.  Eastons  Point,  some  two  or 
ttoee  milM  away,  was  a  long,  burnished  line  of  ripening 
wheat.  To  nght  and  to  left  of  me  were  broken  crags,  i«l- 
yeUow,  red-brown,  red-green,  where  lovers  and  happy 
groups  could  perch  or  nestle  carelessly,  thrusting  tiJble 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


^^tTT^l^A^T^-  I '««J  to  bring  my  trouble 
S  r«,  ^^  "°*  ^  '«•  ^^t"'  I  Wouldn't  hav^ 
be«  A«*^    Then,  waw't  a  soul  m  the  world  who  wouM 

mfl  °  ^"J"^  ^  ^*  ""«^'  ««d  I  was.  in  all  my^. 
rnary  ^t^cts.  a  clinging,  p^tic  thing  that  hat^'^ 

,J1^Z^  ')°*^«  ^"^  '*  t^«°  *«*  «:n^g.  and  I  did  that 
to  the  best  of  my  ability;  not  loudty^f  co^  ij  ^* 
early,  but  gently  and  sentimentally,  J^  an^,«  ^ 
»  wwLl"'"'  '"^  "'"*  had'happened  Z?1L" S 
Z7  lYr^^'^^'^'^^y-  I  «ied  for  things  C 
^;  ;.^^'?^°^''^*°'=^*°'*"hetime.  m«f 
had  finished  with  these  I  went  further  back  to  dig  up  S« 
^^mm^andlcriedforthem.  I  cried  for  my  fathered 
nwther  and  my  orphaned  condition;  I  cried  for  the^rin 

^ved  on  hts  prmapal.  and  left  me  with  scarcely  a  pemiyto 
my  name;  I  cned  for  my  various  disappointmLtfLTvl 
and  for  thegirl  friends  who  had  predeceased  me.  Ima^ 
aU  these  motives  together  and  cried  for  them  in  buTI 
«.ed  for  Hugh  and  the  brilliant  futm^  we  should  have  on 
ti^e  money  he  would  make.  I  cried  for  Larry  Strang^a^ 
and  the  lonehness  his  absence  would  entaa^me.  S 
or  the  future  as  well  as  for  the  past,  and  if  I  could  S 
though  of  a  future  beyond  the  future  I  should  have  Si 

Zi- "i:'"  '  "^^  r  '°°"  "^^  '  f^'t  aStt  if 
M  '*^  ^  '^  "^  ^b<«t  me.  and  I  was  com- 

m^'nf  ^P^emy  eyes  and  wondering  whether  at  the 
XTl   [r°^  homeward  my  nose  would  be  too  red 
when  I  heard  a  qmet  step.    I  thought  I  must  be  mistaken 
It  was  so  mJikely  that  any  one  would  be  there  at  this  hour 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

U  the  day— the  aervanta  generally  came  doim  at  night— 
that  for  a  minute  I  didn't  turn.  It  was  the  uncomfortable 
sense  that  some  one  was  behind  me  that  made  me  look 
back  at  last,  when  I  caught  the  flutter  of  lace  and  the 
shimmer  of  pal&-rose  taffeta.  Mr?  rokenshire  had  worn 
lace  and  pale-rose  taffeta  at  the  lunch. 

Pear  and  amazement  wrestled  in  my  soul  together. 
Struggling  to  my  feet,  I  turned  round  as  slowly  as  I  could. 
"Don't  get  up,"  she  said  in  a  sweet,  quiet  voice.  "I'll 
come  and  sit  down  beside  you,  if  I  may."  Shehadah«ady 
seated  herself  on  a  low  flat  rock  as  she  said,  "I  saw  you 
were  crying,  so  I  waited." 

I  am  not  usually  at  a  loss  for  words,  but  I  was  then.  I 
stuttered  and  stammered  and  babbled,  without  being  able 
to  say  anything  articulate.  Indeed,  I  had  nothing  articu- 
late to  say.    The  mind  had  suspended  its  action. 

My  impressions  were  all  subconscious,  but  registered 
exactly.    She  was  the  most  exquisite  production  I  had  ever 
seen  in  human  guise.    Her  perfection  was  that  of  some 
lovely  little  bird  in  which  ro  color  fails  to  shade  harmoni- 
ously into  some  other  color,  in  which  no  single  feather  is  out 
of  place.    The  Word  I  used  of  her  was  soignie-ihat  which 
is  smoothed  and  curled  and  polished  and  caressed  till  there 
is  not  an  eyelash  which  hasn't  received  its  measure  of  at- 
tention.   I  don't  mean  that  she  was  artificial,  or  that  her 
effects  were  too  thought  out.    She  was  no  more  artificial 
than  a  highly  cultivated  flower  is  artificial,  or  a  many- 
faceted  diamond,  or  a  King  Charles  spaniel,  or  anything 
else  that  is  carefully  bred  or  cut  or  shaped.     She  was 
the  work  of  some  specialist  in  beauty,  who  had  no  aim  in 
view  but  to  give  to  the  world  the  loveliestihing  possible. 
^AThen  I  had  mastered  my  confusion  sufficiently  I  sat 
down  with  the  words,  rather  lamely  spoken  • 
ii6 


THE   MARRIAGE    SHE    HAD    MISSED   WAS    ON    HER    MIND.        ,T    CREATED 

AN    OBSESSION    OR  A    BROKEN    HEART,    I    WASN'T 

QUITE    SLRE    WHICH 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"I  didii't  know  any  one  WM  hm.  I  hope  I  haven't 
kept  you  tUnding  lonjc." 

"No;  but  I  was  watching  you.  I  came  down  only  a 
few  nunute.  after  you  did.  You  aee,  I  waa  a£raid-when 
we  came  away  from  Mn.  Rosaiter'e-that  you  might  be 
unhappy."  s      "» 

"I'm  not  as  unhappy  as  I  was."  I  faltered,  without 
knowing  what  I  said,  and  was  rewarded  to  see  her  smile 
/  1*  r"^'^  innocent  smile,  without  glee,  a  little  sad  in 
fact,  but  full  of  unutterable  things  like  a  very  young  child's 

I  had  never  seen  such  teeth,  so  white,so  small.so  regular 

Im  glad  of  that."  she  said,  simply.  "I  thought  if 
«ane-«ome  other  woman  was  near  you,  you  mightn't  feel 
•0-80  much  alone.  That's  why  I  watched  round  and 
followed  you. 

I  could  have  fallen  at  her  feet,  but  I  restricted  myself  to 
saymg: 

"Thank  you  very  much.  It  does  make  a  difierence  " 
I  got  courage  to  add,  however,  with  a  smile  of  my  own 
"I  see  you  know." 

"Ym.  I  know.  I've  thought  about  you  a  good  deal 
smce  that  day  about  a  fortnight  ago— you  remember?" 

"Oh  yes.  I  remember.  I'm  not  likely  to  forget,  am  If 
(^y.  you  see,  I  had  no  idea-if  I  had,  I  mightn't  have 
felt  so — so  awfully  forlorn." 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  me.  I  can  only  say  of  them  that 
they  were  sweet  and  lovely,  which  is  saying  nothing  at  all 
Sweet  and  lovely  are  the  words  that  come  to  me  when  I 
think  of  her,  and  they  are  so  lamentably  overwo-'  -  -t  She 
seemed  to  study  me  with  a  child-like  unconsciousness. 

T  J-Y^'"  *^  ^^  ^*  ^^'  "^  ^PP°^  you  do  feel  forlorn. 
I  didn  t  think  of  that  oi— or  I  might  have  managed  to 
come  to  you  before." 

117 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"That  you  should  have  come  now,"  I  said,  warmly, 
"is  the  kindest  thing  one  human  being  ever  did  for 
another." 

Again  there  was  the  smile,  a  little  to  one  side  of  the 
mouth,  wistful,  wan. 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't.  I've  really  come  on  my  own  account." 
I  waited  for  some  explanation  of  this,  but  she  only  went 
on:  "Tell  me  about  yourself.  How  did  you  come  here? 
Ethel  Rossiter  has  never  really  said  anything  about  you. 
I  should  like  to  know." 

Her  manner  had  the  gentle  command  that  queens  and 
princesses  and  very  rich  women  tmconsdously  acquire. 
I  tried  to  obey  h  sr,  but  found  little  to  say.  Uttered  to  her 
my  facts  were  so  meager.  I  told  her  of  my  father  and 
mother,  of  my  father's  mania  for  old  books,  of  Louise  and 
Victoria  and  their  husbands,  of  my  visits  abroad;  but  I 
felt  her  attention  wandering.  That  is,  I  felt  she  was  inter- 
ested not  in  my  data,  but  in  me.  Halifax  and  Canada  and 
British  army  and  navy  life  and  rare  first  editions  were 
outside  tie  range  of  her  ken.  Paris  she  knew;  and  Lon- 
don she  knesT ;  but  not  from  any  point  of  view  from  which  I 
could  speak  of  them.  I  could  see  she  was  the  well-placed 
American  who  knows  some  of  the  great  English  houses  and 
all  of  the  great  EngUsh  hotels,  but  nothing  of  that  Britan- 
nic backbone  of  which  I  might  have  been  called  a  rib.  She 
broke  in  presently,  not  apropos  of  anything  I  was  saying, 
with  the  words: 
"How  old  are  you?" 
I  told  her  I  was  twenty-four. 
"I'm  twenty-nine." 

I  said  I  had  understood  as  much  r'rom  Mrs.  Rossiter,  but 
that  I  could  easily  have  supposed  her  no   'der  than  myself. 
This  was  true.    Had  there  not  been  that  something  moum- 
iiS 


THE    HIGH    HEART 

fill  i.i  her  fe'.-e  v  hich  simulates  maturity  I  could  have 
air  ■ -gl  t  of  hei-  a  .  nothing  but  a  girl.  If  I  stood  in  awe  of 
her  it  \'as  o/iy  ci  what  I  guessed  at  as  a  sorrow. 

She  went  on  to  give  me  two  or  three  details  of  her  life, 
with  nearly  all  of  which  I  was  familiar  through  hints  from 
Hugh  and  Ethel  Rossiter. 

"We're  really  Philadelphians,  my  mother  and  I.  We've 
Uved  a  good  deal  in  New  York,  of  course,  and  abroad.  I 
was  at  school  in  Paris,  too,  at  the  Convent  des  Abeilles." 
She  wandered  on,  somewhat  inconsequentially,  with  facts 
of  this  sort,  when  she  added,  suddenly:  "I  was  to  have 
married  some  one  else." 

I  knew  then  that  I  had  the  clue  to  her  thought.  The 
marriage  she  had  missed  was  on  her  mind.  It  created  an 
obsession  or  a  broken  heart,  I  wasn't  quite  sure  which. 
It  was  what  she  wanted  to  talk  about,  though  her  glance 
fell  before  the  spark  of  intelligence  in  mine. 

Since  there  was  nothing  I  could  say  in  actual  wcTds,  I 
merely  murmured  sympathetically.  At  the  same  time 
there  came  to  me,  like  the  slow  breaking  of  a  dawn,  an 
iUuminating  glimpseof  the  great  J.Howard's  life.  I  seemed 
to  be  admitted  into  its  secret,  into  a  perception  of  its 
weak  spot,  more  fully  than  his  wife  had  any  notion  of. 
She  would  never,  I  was  sure,  see  what  she  was  betraying  to 
me  from  my  point  of  view.  She  would  never  see  how  she 
was  giving  him  away.  She  wouldn't  even  see  how  she  was 
givmg  away  herself— she  was  so  sweet,  and  genUe,  and 
child-like,  and  unsuspecting. 

I  don't  know  for  how  many  seconds  her  quiet,  inconse- 
quential speech  trickled  on  without  my  being  able  to 
foUow  it.  I  came  to  myself  again,  as  it  were,  on  hearing 
her  say: 

"And  if  you  do  love  him,  oh,  don't  give  him  up!" 
9.  iig 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  grasped  the  fact  then  that  I  had  lost  someth-ng  about 
Hugh,  and  did  my  best  to  catch  up  with  it. 

"  I  don't  mean  to,  if  either  of  my  conditions  is  fulfilled. 
You  heard  what  they  were." 

"Oh,  but  if  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  make  them.  That's 
where  I  think  you're  wrong.    If  you  love  him—' ' 

' '  I  couldn't  steal  him  from  his  family,  even  if  1  loved  him. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  it  wouldn't  be  stealing.  When  two  people 
love  each  other  there's  nothing  else  to  think  about." 

"And  yet  that  might  sometimes  be  dangerous  doctrine." 

"If  there  was  never  any  danger  there'd  never  be  any 
courage.    And  courage  is  one  of  the  finest  things  in  life." 

"Yes,  of  course;  but  even  courage  can  carry  one  very 
tar." 

"Nothing  can  carry  us  so  far  as  love.    I  see  that  now. 
It's  why  I'm  anxious  about  poor  Hugh.    I— I  know  a  man 
who— who  loves  a  woman  whom  he— he  couldn't  marry, 
and—"    She  caught  herself  up.     "  I'm  fond  of  Hugh,  you 
see,  even  though  he  doesn't  like  me.     I  wish  he  under- 
stood, that  they  all  understood— that— that  it  isn't  my 
fault.     If  I  could  have  had  my  way—"    She  righted  her- 
self here  with  a  sHght  change  of  tense.    "If  I  could  have 
my  way,  Hugh  would  marry  the  woman  he's  in  love  with 
and  who's  in  love  with  him." 
I  tried  to  enroll  her  decisively  on  my  side. 
"So  that  you  don't  agree  with  Mr.  Brokenshire.' 
Her  immediate  response  was  to  color  with  a  soft,  suf- 
fused rose-pink  like  that  of  the  inside  of  shells.     Her'  eyes 
pew  misty  with  a  kind  of  helplessness.    She  looked  at  me 
imploringly,  and  looked  away.    One  might  have  supposed 
that  she  was  pleading  with  me  to  be  let  off  answering. 
Nevertheless,  when  she  spoke  at  last,  her  words  brought 
me  to  a  new  phase  of  her  self -revelation. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Why  aren't  you  afraid  of  him?" 

"Oh,  but  I  am." 

"Yes,  but  not  like—"  Again  she  saved  herself.  ' '  Yes 
but  not  like— so  many  people.  You  may  be  afraid  of  him' 
mside,  but  you  fight." 

"Any  one  fights  for  right." 

There  was  a  repetition  ol  the  wistful  smile,  a  little  to  the 
left  comer  of  the  mouth. 

||Oh,dothey?    I  wish  I  did.    Or  rather  I  wish  I  had  " 

It  s  never  too  late,"  I  declared,  with  what  was  meant 
to  be  encouragement. 

There  was  a  queer  little  gleam  in  her  eye,  Uke  that  which 
comes  into  the  pupil  of  a  startled  bird. 

"So  I've  heard  some  one  else  say.  I  suppose  it's  true- 
but  It  fnghtens  me." 

I  was  quite  strangely  uneasy.  Hints  of  her  story  came 
back  to  me,  but  I  had  never  heard  it  completely  enough  to 
be  able  to  piece  the  fragments  together.  It  was  new  for 
me  to  unagine  myself  called  on  to  protect  any  one— I  need- 
ed protection  so  much  for  myself  !-but  I  wasmoved  with  a 
protective  instinct  toward  her.  It  was  rather  ridiculous 
and  yet  it  was  so.  ' 

"Only  one  must  be  sure  one  is  right  before  one  fights 
mustn  t  one?"  was  aU  I  could  think  of  saying. 

She  responded  dreamily,  looking  seaward. 

"Don't  you  think  there  may  be  worse  things  than 
wrong?" 

This  being  so  contrary  to  my  pet  principles,  I  answered 
emphatically,  that  I  didn't  think  so  at  all.  I  brought  out 
my  maxim  that  if  you  did  right  nothing  but  right  could 
come  of  it;  but  she  surprised  me  by  saying,  simply,  "I 
don't  believe  that." 

I  was  a  little  indignant. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"ButifsnotamatterofbeUeving;it'soneofprovinjr  of 
demonstration."  ' 

"  I've  done  right,  and  wrong  came  of  it." 
"Oh,  but  it  couldn't— not  in  the  long  run." 
"Well,  then  I  did  wrong.    That's  what  I've  been  afr«id 
of,  and  what— what  some  one  else  tells  me."    If  a  pet  bird 
could  look  at  you  with  a  challenging  expression  it  was  the 
thmgsliedid.     "Now  what  do  you  say?" 

I  really  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  spoke  from  instinct 
and  some  common  sense. 

"  If  one's  done  wrong,  or  made  a  mistake,  I  suppose  the 
only  way  one  can  rectify  it  is  to  begin  again  to  do  right 
Kight  must  have  a  rectifying  power." 

"But  if  you've  made  a  mistake  the  mistake  is  there 
unless  you  go  back  and  unmake  it.  If  you  don't,  isn't  it 
what  they  call  building  on  a  bad  foundation.?" 

"I  dare  say  it  is;   and  yet  you  can't  push  a  material 
companson  too  far  when  you're  thinking  of  spiritual 
things     This  is  spiritual,  isn't  it?    I  suppose  one  can't 
really  do  evil  and  expect  good  to  come  of  it:  but  one  can 
overcome  evil  with  good." 
She  looked  at  me  with  a  sweet  mistiness. 
"I've  no  doubt  that's  true,  but  it's  very  deep.    It's  too 
deep  for  me."    She  rose  with  an  air  of  dismis.sing  the  sud- 
]ect,  though  she  continued  to  speak  of  it  aUusively     "You 
taow  so  much  about  it.     I  cou.d  see  you  did  from  the  first 
If  I  was  to  tell  you  the  whole  ^tory-but,  of  course,  I  can't 
do  that.    No.  don't  get  up.    I  have  to  run  away,  because 
we  re  expecting  people  to  tea;   but  I  should  have  liked 
staymg  to  talk  with  you.    You're  awfully  clever  aren't 
you?    I  suppose  it  must  be  Uving  ixnmi  in  those  queer 
places-Gibraltar,  didn't  you  say?    I've  seen  Gibraltar 
but  only  from  the  steamer,  on  the  way  to  Naples     I  felt 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

that  I  was  with  you  from  that  very  first  time  I  saw  you. 
I'd  seen  you  before,  of  course,  with  little  Gladys,  but  not  to 
notice  you.  I  never  noticed  you  till  I  heard  that  Hugh 
was  in  love  with  you.  That  was  just  before  Mr.  Broken- 
shire  took  me  over— you  remember!— that  day.  He 
wanted  me  to  see  how  easily  he  could  deal  with  people  who 
opposed  him;  but  I  didn't  think  he  succeeded  very  well. 
He  made  you  go  and  sit  at  a  distance.  That  was  to  show 
you  he  had  the  power.  Did  you  notice  what  I  did?  Oh, 
I'm  glad.  I  wanted  you  to  understand  that  if  it  was  a 
question  of  love  I  was— I  was  with  you.  You  saw  that 
didn't  you?  Oh,  I'm  glad.  I  must  run  away  now! 
We've  people  to  tea;  but  some  time,  if  I  can  manage  it, 
I'll  oome  again." 

She  had  begun  slipping  up  the  path,  like  a  great  rose- 
colored  moth  in  the  greenery,  when  she  turned  to  say: 

"I  can  never  do  anything  for  you,  I'm  too  afraid  of 
him;  but  I'm  on  your  side." 

After  she  had  gone  I  began  putting  two  and  two  together. 
What  her  visit  did  for  me  especially  was  to  distract  my 
mind.  I  got  a  better  perspective  on  my  own  small  drama 
m  seeing  it  as  incidental  tc  a  larger  one.  That  there  was  a 
large  one  here  I  had  no  doubt,  though  I  could  neither  seize 
nor  outline  its  proportions.  As  far  as  I  could  judge  of  my 
visitor  I  found  her  dazed  by  the  magnitude  of  the  thing 
that  had  happened  to  her,  whatever  that  was.  She  was 
good  and  kind;  she  hadn't  a  thought  that  wasn't  tender; 
normally  she  would  have  been  tiw  devoted,  clinging  type 
of  wife  I  longed  to  be  myself;  and  yet  some  one's  passion, 
or  same  one's  ambition,  or  both  in  collusion,  had  caught 
her  like  a  bird  in  a  net. 

It  was  peihaps  because  she  was  a  woman  and  I  was  a 
woman  and  J.  Howard  was  a  man  that  my  reactions  oon- 
123 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

cemed  themselves  chiefly  with  him.  I  thought  of  him 
throughout  the  afternoon.  I  began  to  get  new  views  of 
him.  I  wondered  if  he  knew  of  himself  what  I  knew.  I 
supposed  he  did.  I  supposed  he  must.  He  couldn't  have 
been  married  two  or  thrca  years  to  this  sweet  stricken 
creature  without  seeing  that  her  heart  wasn't  his.  Fur- 
thermore, he  couldn't  have  beheld,  as  he  and  I  had  beheld 
that  afternoon,  the  hand  that  went  up  palm  outward, 
without  divining  a  horror  of  his  person  that  was  more  than 
a  shrinking  from  his  poor  contorted  eye.  For  love  the 
contorted  eye  would  have  meant  more  love,  since  it  would 
have  been  love  with  its  cognate  of  pity;  but  not  so  that 
uplifted  hand  and  that  instinctive  waving  of  him  back. 
There  was  more  than  an  involuntary  repulsion  in  that, 
more  than  an  instant  of  abhorrence.  What  there  was  he 
must  have  discovered,  he  must  have  tasted,  from  the 
minute  he  first  took  her  in  his  arms. 

I  was  sorry  for  him.  I  could  throw  enough  of  the  mas- 
culine into  my  imagination  to  know  how  he  must  adoie 
a  creature  of  such  perfected  charm.  She  was  the  sort  of 
woman  men  would  adore,  especially  the  men  whose  ideal 
lies  first  of  all  in  the  physical.  For  them  it  would  mean 
nothing  that  she  lacked  mentality,  that  the  pendulum  of 
her  nature  had  only  a  limited  swing;  that  she  was  as  good 
as  she  looked  would  be  enough,  seeing  that  she  looked  like 
an  angel  straight  out  of  heaven.  In  spite  of  poor  J.  How- 
ard's kingly  suavity  I  knew  he  must  have  minutes  of  sheer 
animal  despair,  of  fierce  and  bitter  suffering. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  spoke  to  me  that  evening  with  a  suggestion 
of  reprimand,  which  was  letting  me  off  easily.  I  was  so 
sure  of  my  dismissal,  that  when  I  returned  to  the  hciuse 
from  the  shore  I  expected  some  sort  of  lettre  de  ccmg6;  but  I 
found  nothing.  I  had  had  supper  with  Gladys  and  put  her 
"4 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

to  bed  when  the  maid  brought  me  a  messa^  to  say  that 
Mrs.  Rosater  would  like  me  to  come  down  and  see  her 
dress,  as  she  was  going  out  to  dinner. 

I  was  admiring  the  dress,  which  wm  a  new  one.  when  she 
said,  rather  fretfully : 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that  to  father.    It  uo- 
sets  him  so."  ^ 

I  was  adjusting  a  slight  fuUness  at  the  back,  which  made 
It  the  easier  for  me  to  answer. 

"I  wouldn't  if  he  didn't  talk  like  that  tome.    What  can 
X  do  f    I  have  to  say  something. ' ' 

She  was  peering  into  the  cheval  glass  over  her  shoulder 
givmg  her  attention  to  two  things  at  once. 

"I  me^  your  saying  you  expected  both  of  those  prepos- 
terous  thmgs  to  happen.    Of  course,  you  don't-nor  either 

of  them— and  It  only  rubs  him  up  the  wrong  way.  " 

I  was  too  meek  now  to  at^e  the  point.    Besides  I  was 
preoccupied  with  the  widening  interests  in  which  I  found 
myself  mvolved.    To  probe  the  security  of  my  position 
once  more,  I  said: 
"I  wonder  you  stand  it-that  you  don't  send  me  away  " 
She  was  still  twisting  in  front  of  the  cheval  glass 
'Don'tyouthinkthatshoulder-strapisloose?    Itreally 
looks  as  if  the  whole  thing  would  sUo  off  me.    If  he  can 
stand  It  I  can,"  she  added,  as  a  matter  of  secondary  con- 
cern. •' 

..  J°^'.^^  ^^  "^  ^^^  '^■"  '  ^  ^^^  tJie  shoulder-strap. 
No  I  think  It's  all  right,  if  you  don't  wriggle  too  much." 

^  m  sure  It's  goinpT  to  come  down— and  there  I  shall  be 

«e  has  to  stand  it,  don't  you  see,  or  let  you  think  that  vott 
wound  him.'"  "*ai,jru» 

I  was  frankly  curious. 

"  Do  I  wound  him.?" 

"5 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"  He'd  never  let  you  know  it  if  you  did.  The  fact  tlut 
he  ignores  you  and  lets  you  stay  on  with  me  is  the  only 
thing  by  which  I  can  judge.  If  you  didn't  hurt  him  at  aU 
he'd  teU  me  to  send  you  about  your  business."  She  turned 
from  the  glass.  "  WeU,  if  you  say  that  strap  is  all  right  I 
suppose  it  must  be,  but  I  don't  feel  any  too  sure."  She 
was  picking  up  her  gloves  and  her  fan  which  the  maid  had 
laid  out,  when  she  said,  suddenly:  "If  you're  so  keen  on 
getting  married,  for  goodness'  sake  why  don't  you  take 
that  young  Strangways?" 

My  sensation  can  only  be  compared  to  that  of  a  person 
who  has  got  a  terrific  blow  on  the  head  from  a  trip-hammer 
I  seemed  to  wonder  why  I  hadn't  been  crushed  or  struck 
dead.  As  it  was,  I  felt  that  I  could  never  move  again  from 
the  spot  on  which  I  stood.  I  was  vaguely  conscious  of 
somethmg  outraged  within  me,  and  yet  was  too  stunned  to 
resent  It.  I  could  only  gasp,  feebly,  after  what  seemed  an 
mtenmnable  time:  " In  the  first  place,  I'm  not  so  awfully 
keen  on  getting  married — " 
She  was  examining  her  gloves. 
There,  that  stupid  Sfeaphine  has  put  me  out  two  lefts. 
No,  she  hasn't;  it's  all  right.  Stuff,  my  dear!  Every 
girl  is  keen  on  getting  married." 

"And  then,"  I  stammered  on,  "Mr.  Strangways  baa 
never  given  me  the  chance." 

"Oh,  weU,  he  will.  Do  hand  me  my  wra.p,  like  a  love  " 
I  was  putting  the  wrap  over  her  shoulders  as  she  repeated- 
*  Oh,  well,  he  will.  I  can  tell  by  the  way  he  looks  at  you. 
It  would  be  ever  so  much  more  suitable.  Jim  says  he'll  be 
a  first-class  man  in  time— if  you  don't  rush  in  like  an  idiot 
and  many  Hugh." 

"  I  may  marry  Hugh,"  I  tried  to  say,  loftily,  i'  but  I  hope 
I  sha'n't  do  it  like  an  idiot." 

ia6 


i 


' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

She  wept  toward  the  rtaimay,  but  she  had  left  me  with 
TLT  '°'i^?"^'^*  ""tp-ly  '«■  th^t  evening,  but  for  the 
?™^»**"°!^-  Now  that  the  fct  shock  was  oveJ 
I  managed  to  work  up  the  proper  sense  of  indignity.    I 

^^"^    T^'^'^'^'^'^-    She  shoul^t  have 
inenboned  such  a  thing.    I  wouldn't  have  stood  it  from 
one  of  my  own  sisters.    I  had  never  thought  of  Larry' 
SteMgways  m  any  such  way,  and  to  do  so  disturbed  our 
^e^r-.r.  u  ^"^  ^'^'  ^  ''^"'*  '"  ^°^'  ^'h  him;  and 
rio^^  T'a"  Z^  *°°  ^^-    Not  that  I  was  looking  for  a 
nch  husband;  but  neither  was  I  a  lunatic.     It  wo^d  be 
y^  before  he  could  think  of  marrying,  if  there  were  no 
oth«  consideration ;  and  in  the  mean  time  there  was  Hugh 
ITiere  yias  Hugh  with  his  letters  from  Boston,  full  of 
high  Mnbitious  hopes.     Cousin  Andrew  Brew  had  written 
from  B^  Harbor  that  he  was  coming  to  town  in  aly^ 

Already  Hugh  had  his  eye  on  a  little  house  on  Beacon  Hill 
-so  hke  a  comer  of  Mayfair.  he  wrote,  if  Mayfair  stood 

rv^iT^T**"^  ''''•*•"'  "^'"^  be  as  snug  as  two 
love-birds.  I  was  composmg  in  my  mind  the  letter  I 
should  write  to  my  aunt  in  Halifax,  asking  to  be  allowed  to 
come  back  for  the  wedding.  '»""w«iio 

I  filled  in  the  hours  wondering  how  Larry  Strangwavs 
boted  at  me  when  ttere  was  only  Mrs.^ter  as"^ 
^.  I  knew  how  he  looked  at  me  when  I  was  lo^ 
back-^  w^  with  that  gleaming  smile  which  defied  you 
to  see  behmd  It,  as  the  sun  defies  you  to  see  behind  its  raT 
But  I  wanted  to  know  how  he  looked  at  me  when  my  h^ 
was  turned  another  way;  to  know  how  the  sun  app^ 
w^  you  «fiw  It  through  a  telesc«pe  that  nullifiTlS 
JSr*  J^"  that  I  had  only  my  imagination,  since  Le 

had  obtwned  two  or  three  days' leave  to  go  to  New  York 
127 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

to  see  hi«  new  employer.    He  had  warned  n,»  t   k.*_ 

connected  v^S^  tLT.T    ^^^G'^^S^  which  I 
Brokenshire  "^^  story  I  had  heard  of  Mrs. 

-ladys  in  the  Sn  2^^H  n    u    ''""  ^'^^ting  with 

w.^s^'^tLTa?  f t:r  ''I- ''  «'^^  ^'  ^-'  -^  own 
me  all  at  once  but  btbv  ^  °"-  ."'  '''^'^  *^"  ''  »» 
Jiim     Th»  „•  1  ^  °'*'  ^^  "^  details  occuired  to 

■»IT],u  *  "^^  with  satisfactory  exactitude 

leaSin';  h'arcJSr^T  ^'^  '^"^^  -  bX before 
and  w4ld  ie  r^af tfr  ^^  ^'^  "^'^^^^  '"  '°wn 
morning.     Hugh  was  L"^!  ''^  "*  ^'«-«»  °"  a  certain 

euests  among  thersofto     v         ^""^  ^''^^  welcoi^e 

-^sjuu,  xiugn  I    (jrlad  to  see  you.    Camp  Jn     c.v  j 

138         ^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Hugh  took  the  comfortable  little  upright  ann-chair  that 
stood  at  the  comer  of  his  cousin's  desk,  while  the  latter 
resumed  the  scat  of  honor.  Knowing  that  the  banker's 
time  was  valuable,  and  feeling  that  he  would  reveal  his 
aptitude  for  business  by  going  to  the  point  at  once,  the 
younger  man  began  his  taie.  He  had  just  reached  the' fact 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  litUe  girl  on  whose  merits 
he  wouldn't  enlarge,  since  all  lovers  had  the  same  sort  of 
things  to  say,  though  he  was  surer  of  his  data  than  others 
of  his  kind,  when  there  was  a  tinkle  at  the  desk  telephone. 
"Excuse  me." 

During  the  conversation  in  which  Cousin  Andrew  then 
engaged  Hugh  was  able  to  observe  the  long-established 
miassuming  comfort  of  this  friendly  office,  which  suggested 
the  cozy  air  that  hangs  about  the  smoking-rooms  of  good 
old  EngUsh  inns.  There  was  a  warm  worn  carpet  on  the 
floor;  deep  leather  arm-chairs  showed  the  effect  of  contact 
with  two  generations  of  moneyed  backs;  on  the  walls  the 
Hthographed  heads  of  Brews  and  Borrodailes  bore  witness 
to  the  firm's  respectability.  In  the  atmosphere  a  faint 
odor  of  tobacco  emphasized  the  human  associations. 

Cousin  Andrew  emphasized  them,  too.  "Nowl"  He 
put  down  the  receiver  and  turned  to  Hugh  with  an  air  of 
relief  at  being  able  to  give  him  his  attention.  He  was  a  tall, 
thin  man  with  a  head  like  a  nut.  It  would  have  been  an 
expressionless  nut  had  it  not  been  for  a  facile  tight-lipped 
smile  that  creased  his  face  as  stretching  creases  rubber. 
Coming  and  going  rapidly,  it  gave  him  the  appearance  of 
mirth,  creating  at  each  end  of  a  long,  mobile  mouth  two 
concentric  semicircles  cutting  deep  into  the  cheeks  that 
would  have  been  of  value  to  a  low  comedian.  A  slate- 
colored  morning  suit,  a  white  piqu^  edge  to  the  opening  of 
the  waistcoat  a  slat6K»lored  tie  with  a  pearl  in  it,  em- 
xag 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^ote.  to  Cousm  Andrew',  character.    Blended  a.  th^ 
we«.  they  formed  a  delightfully  debonair  combinatfe^ 

kv^riil^'"-  ^^''^P'^ofW^'endearingqS 
ity  that  he  Idced  you  to  «ee  him  as  a  jolly  good  feUowno 
wlnt  better  than  yourself.  He  was  fond  of'Sip  rd  ^ 
the  hghter  topics  of  the  moment.  He  was  also  fond  3 
dancng  and  frequented  most  of  the  gatherings.  prfvaU 
^2/7;^°'  the  cultivation  of  that  art  which  CS 
vo^of  the  year  before  the  Great  War.  With  his  tall 
hmber  figure  he  passed  for  less  than  his  age  of  forty-throe 
till  you  got  him  at  close  quarters 

coSl^Inn'T'i"^"^- '  ^  '^W*  th"^  was  an  inflection  of 
command  Hugh  went  on  with  his  tale,  telling  of  his  breach 

forhi::::/^"  ^'  ^  detennmation  to  go'into  Ls^ 
"I  ought  to  be  independent,  anyhow,  at  mv  aee  "  he 

f^T^-      'J'"r."^  °^  '^'^'-  -^  ''"^  only  righuo  cot 
fess  to  you  that  I'm  a  bit  of  a  Socialist.    Thkt  w'on't  mX 

Zi  T"!'  ^°T^'  *°  °^  ^"^"^"S  together,  Coi^ 

tdlyou  that  I  ve  come  to  the  place  where  I  should  like  to 
accept  your  kmd  offer." 
The  statement  was  received  with  cheerful  detachment. 

ZS^n^!?  f '^.  '^^  ^^^^  ^°™^d   with   hii 
anns  on  his  d^,  rubbing  his  long,  thin  hands  together. 
My  kind  offer?    What  was  that?" 
Hugh  was  slightly  dashed. 

bu^S*''  '"''  '°°^^  *°  you  if  ever  I  wanted  to  go  into 
"  Oh !    You're  going  into  business '" 
Hugh  named  the  places  and  dates  at  which,  during  the 
»3o  ^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

|)ut  few  year*,  Cousin  Andrew  h«d  oBend  hia  help  to  hia 
young  kinsmiin  if  ever  it  wu  needed. 

Cousin  Andrew  tossed  hinaelf  back  in  his  chair  with  one 
of  his  brisk,  restless  movements. 

"Did  I  say  that?  WeU,  if  I  did  111  stick  to  it."  Thetw 
was  another  tinkle  at  the  telephone.    "Excuse  me." 

Hugh  had  time  for  reflection  and  some  irritation.  He 
had  not  expected  to  be  thrust  into  the  place  of  a  petitioner, 
or  to  have  to  make  explanations  galling  to  his  pride.  He 
had  counted  not  only  on  his  cousinship,  but  on  his  position 
in  the  world  as  J.  Howard  Brokenshire's  son.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  Cousin  Andrew  was  disposed  to  undervalue  that. 

"I  don't  want  to  hold  you  to  anything  you  don't  care 
for,  Cousin  Andrew,"  he  began,  when  his  relative  had  again 
put  the  receiver  aside,  "but  I  understood—" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I've  no  doubt  I  said  it.  I  do 
recall  something  of  the  sort,  vaguely,  at  a  time  when  I 
thought  your  father  might  want—  In  any  case  we  can  fix 
you  up.  Sure  to  be  something  you  can  do.  When'd  you 
like  to  begin?" 

Hugh  expressed  his  willingness  to  be  put  into  office  at 
once. 

"Just  so.  Turn  you  over  to  old  Williamson.  He  licks 
the  young  ones  into  shape.  Suppose  your  father  '11  think 
it  hard  of  us  to  go  against  him.  But  on  the  other  hand  he 
may  be  pleased— he'll  know  you're  in  safe  hands." 

It  was  a  delicate  thing  for  Hugh  to  attempt,  but  as  iis  i 
was  going  into  business  not  from  an  irresistible  impulse 
toward  a  financial  career,  but  in  order  to  make  enough 
money  to  marry  on,  he  felt  obUged  to  ask,  in  such  terms  as 
he  could  command,  how  much  money  he  should  make. 
^  "Just  so !"  Cousin  Andrew  took  up  the  receiver  again. 
"Want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Williamson.  ...  Oh,  Willian*. 
131 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

son.  how  much  is  Duffers  getting  now?  Ar,^  W-. 

mud.  before  that?  ...  Good!  T^r  '  '  '  ^^^ 
Hu.h  T'^"^  *^^  investigations  was  communicated  to 
S  i?^t^  '^"•^  Duffers-spay,  and  when  heh^ 
,^!^-  I  ^^  "™*  ""  ^"^  rhiSas-s  promotion.  The 
Ijnm^te^ertwastomakehimlookstLtledan^blS 
^oi^:^^^'  '''^'-■-  ^*  '*  "'"^^^^  -vera, 

Why,  what  did  you  expect?" 
Hugh  could  only  stammer: 
I'  I  thought  it  would  be  more." 
"How  much  more?" 

cr^^trSLrh^--  ^*  --'<^'>'*  ^-^3^  the  ludi- 

;^ell.  enough  to  Uve  on  as  a  married  man  at  least.  " 
his^bSSi:.'""  ""^^  '^^  P"-^  ''^  t'^^  —  o^ 

"What  did  you  think  you'd  be  worth  to  us-with  no 
backmg  from  your  father?"  "»-wjta  no 

The  question  was  of  the  kind  commonly  called  a  ooser 

a^t^T^  ^  ^'^°"^  banking-house  as  prirSy 
fc^^^irr"^."^??"*^-  It^^-^'ttobelikeworking 
SntTL?  !r-  H^'^^P'^e^  it  as  becoming  f 
component  part  of  a  machine  that  turned  out  m^of 

wiuch  he  would  get  his  share,  that  share  being  i^;Z,r! 

to  his  blood  connection  with  the  dominating  p^e^ 
When  Cousm  Andrew  had  repeated  his  question  - 


obliged  to  reply 


1  Hugh  1 


I  wasn't  thinking  of  that  so  much  as  of  what 


worth  to  me 


you'd  be 


133 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"We  could  be  worth  a  good  deal  to  you  in  time." 
There  was  a  ray  of  hope. 
"  How  long  a  time  ?" 

"Oh,  twenty  or  thirty  years,  perhaps,  if  you  work  and 
save.  Of  course,  if  you  had  capital  to  bring  in— but  you 
haven't,  have  you?  Didn't  Cousin  Sophy,  your  mother, 
leave  everything  to  your  father?  I  thought  so.  Mind 
you,  I'm  putting  out  of  the  question  all  thought  of  your 
father's  coming  round  and  putting  money  in  for  you.  I'm 
talking  of  the  thing  on  the  ground  on  which  you've  put  it." 
Hugh  had  no  heart  to  resent  the  quirks  and  grimaces  in 
Cousin  Andrew's  smile.  He  had  all  he  could  do  in  taking 
his  leave  in  a  way  to  save  his  face  and  cast  the  episode  be- 
hind him.  The  banker  lent  himself  to  this  effort  with 
good-humored  grace,  accompanying  his  relative  to  the  door 
of  the  room,  where  he  shook  him  by  the  shoulder  as  he 
turned  the  knob. 

"  Thought  you'd  go  right  in  as  a  director  ?  Not  the  first 
youngster  who's  had  that  idea,  and  you'll  not  be  the  last. 
Good-by.  Let  me  hear  from  you  if  you  change  your 
mind."  He  called  after  him,  as  the  door  was  about  to 
close:  "Best  try  to  fix  it  up  with  your  father,  Hugh.  As 
for  the  girl— well,  there'U  be  others,  and  more  in  your 
line." 


CHAPTER  DC 

QN  that  first  morning  I  got  no  more  than  the  gist  of 
W  vrtiat  had  happened  during  Hugh's  visit  to  his  cousin 
Andrew  Brew.  Hugh  announced  it  in  fact  by  a  metaphor 
as  soon  m  we  had  exchanged  greetings  and  he  had  sat  down 
at  the  table  with  his  ann  over  Gladys's  shoulder 

the  «^"    ^^^  ^'  ^  ^°*  '*  ^^^  ^  '^'^  8^ 

"WTiere  was  that?"  I  asked,  imiocently,  for  the  figure  o( 
speech  was  new  to  me.  "euiow 

"In  the  neck." 

NeiJ«- of  us  laughed.  His  tone  was  so  lugubrious  as  to 
Sfw^t^^--  S"*I"«derstood.  Imaysaythatby 
the  tmie  he  had  given  me  the  outline  of  what  he  had  to 

hLI'^^*?"^^^*^'^'-  I  ^eht  have  seen  poor 
Hugh  8  limitations  before;  but  I  never  had.  During^he 
old  hfe  m  Hahfax  I  had  known  plenty  of  youi^men 
brought  up  m  comfort  who  couldn't  earn  a  Hving  when  the 
tune  came  to  do  It.  If  I  had  never  classed  Hugh  among 
^t!w^'  '*  ""^  '^'=^"=°  ^^^  Brokenshires  were  all  so 
rich  that  I  supposed  they  must  have  some  secret  prescrip- 
tion for  wrmgmg  money  from  the  air.  Besides,  Hugh  was 
anAmencan ;  and  American  and  money  were  words  I  was 
f««stomed  to  pronounce  together.  I  never  questioned 
hM  abihty  to  have  any  reasonable  income  he  named-till 
now.  Now  I  b^an  to  see  him  as  he  must  have  seen  him- 
»34 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

•df  during  those  first  few  minutes  after  turning  his  back  oa 
the  parental  haven,  alone  and  in  the  dark. 

I  cannot  say  that  for  the  moment  I  had  any  of  the 
quateisoffear.    My  yearning  over  him  was  too  motherly 
for  that.    I  wanted  to  comfort  and,  as  far  as  possible  to 
encwirage  imn.    Something  within  me  whispered,  too,  thel 
woi^.     Its  going  to  be  up  to  me."    I  meant-or  that' . 
which  ^e  m  me  meant-that  the  whole  position  was- 
reversed.    I  had  been  taking  my  ease  hitherto,  beUeving:] 
that  the  strong  young  man  who  had  asked  me  to  matry 
hun  would  do  the  necessar,  work.    It  was  to  be  up  to  him 
My  part  was  to  be  the  passive  bliss  of  having  some  one  to 
love  me  and  maintain  me.    That  Hugh  loved  me  I  knew - 
that  m  cme  way  or  another  he  would  be  able  to  maintain 
me  I  took  for  granted.    With  a  Brokenshiie,  I  assumed, 
that  would  be  the  last  of  cares.    And  now  I  saw  in  a  flash 
that  I  was  wrong;  that  I  who  was  nothing  but  a  parasite 
by  nature  would  somehow  have  to  give  my  strong  youne 
man  support.  5  j  •"  s 

Whai  all  was  said  that  he  could  say  r"-,  the  moment  I 
tot^the  responsibiUty  of  sending  Gladys  indoors  with  the 
maid  who  was  waiting  on  the  table,  after  which  I  asked 
Hugh  to  walk  down  the  lawn  with  me.  A  stone  balustrade 
ran  above  the  Cliff  Walk,  and  here  was  a  bit  of  shrubbery 
where  no  one  could  observe  us  from  the  house  while 
pa^  on  the  Cliff  Walk  could  see  us  only  by  looking  up- 
ward. At  that  hour  in  the  morning  even  they  were  likely 
to  be  rare.  •' 

"Hugh,  darling,"  I  said,  "this  is  becoming  very  very 
senous.  You're  throwing  yourself  out  of  house  and 'home 
and  your  father's  good-will  for  my  sake.  We  must  think 
about  It,  Hugh—"  ^^ 

His  answer  was  to  seize  me  in  his  anns-we  were  suffi- 
"  13s 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

dently  screened  frDm  view-and  crush  his  Kds  »^,-„.* 

mme  ma  way  that  made  speech  toSir'^'^ 
Again  I  must  make  a  crmfposirm     t*  _     t  •    .  . 

When  he  got  breath  to  say  anything  it  was  ^th  , 

"I  know  what  I'm  doine  little  Al>V     v 
-to  count  the  cost,    '^e  ^iS^aJZT^' ^ 
P-™us.    Sincelhavetosufferfory^LX^"^?;;! 

136 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


His  embrace  was  enough  to 


"No,  Hugh."  I  whispered, 
strangle  me. 

"Wen,  then,  never  ask  me  to  think  about  this  thing 
agam.  I've  thought  aU  I'm  going  to.  As  I  mean  to  get 
you  anyhow,  Kttle  Alix,  you  may  as  weU  promise  now,  this 
•Jeiy  minute,  that  whatever  happens  you'll  be  my  wife." 

But  I  didn't  promise.    First  I  got  him  to  release  me  on 
the  ground  that  some  bathers,  after  a  dip  at  Eastons 
Beach,  were  going  by,  with  their  heads  on  a  level  with  our 
feet.    Then  I  asked  the  natural  question : 
"What  do  you  think  of  doing  new?" 
He  said  he  was  going  to  let  no  mushrooms  spring  in  his 
footsteps,  and  that  he  was  taking  a  morning  train  for  New 
York.    He  talked  about  bankers  and  brokers  and  moneyed 
thmgs  m  general  in  a  way  I  couldn't  follow,  though  I 
could  see  that  in  spite  of  Cousin  Andrew  Brew's  rejection 
he  still    jcpected  great  things  of  himself.    Like  me   he 
seemed  to  feel  that  there  was  a  faculty  for  conjuring 
money  m  the  very  nam.,  of  Brokenshire.     Never  having 
known  what  it  was  to  be  without  as  much  money  as  he 
wanted,  never  having  been  given  to  suppose  that  such  an 
eventuahty  could  come  to   pass,   it   was  perhaps  not 
strange  that  he  should  consider  his  power  of  commanding 
a  large  mcome  to  be  in  the  nature  of  things.    Bankers 
Mid  brokers  would  be  glad  to  have  him  as  their  associate 
man  the  mere  fact  that  he  was  his  father's  son. 

I  radeavored  to  throw  a  cup  of  cold  water  on  too  much 
certamty,  by  saying: 

•  "^"^'iJ^K'i'  'J«ar,  won't  you  have  to  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning?    Wasn't  that  what  your  cousin  Andrew  Brew—?" 
Cousin  Andrew  Brew  is  an  ass.    He's  one  great  bie 
Boston  sbck-in-the-mud.    He  wouldn't  know  which  side 
Bis  bread  was  buttered  on,  not  if  it  was  buttered  on  both  " 
137 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


^tilV  I  pendsted.  "you'U  have  to  begin  at  the  begin- 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  be  the  first  " 
tasfeetintheshapeofapersonlikeme.    Howmanyyea« 

R-rot  httle  Al„!"  He  brought  out  the  interjection 
with  a  contemptuous  roU.  "  It  might  be  twentv  ™?^T 
years  for  a  nunaskull  like  Duilers.  L  for  m^'l^e^S 
waj^  by  which  aman  who-s  in  the  business  ah^d^^y^ 
^ht  say  goes  skimnnng  over  the  gtounr^e^on 
^  ^\  "^^  "^"^  "*  *^'  gentlemen-raS!^ 
your  own  a™.y     They  enlist  as  privates,  and  in  tw^  or 

1  hat  comes  of  their  education  and— ••  "-"""^suon. 

"That's  often  true,  I  admit.    I've  known  of  seveml 

^^  my  own  experience.    But  even^lTTe 

"Wouldn't  you  wait  for  me?" 

sa^^^'hl^:^"''"  '"^  '  ^^-  «-*  ^^  - 

"Yes,  of  course,  Hugh,  if  I  promised  you.    And  vet  to 
bmdj^bysuchapromisedoesn'tseemrme^"'"*  '° 

"You  think  he's  bluffing  then?"    I  thipw  some  r™,,.-^ 
tion  mto  my  tone  as  I  added,  "I  don't ''  °' 

;;  He's  not  bluffing  to  his  own  knowledge ;  but  he  i^" 
to  Jbv  °"^        J"^''  '*  ^  '°'°^'^ee  that  we've  got 
Se^t."  ^''°'^""P«^*'^«^°«t.evenifwehopefor 

138 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

'And  what  it  all  comes  to  is — " 

"Is  that  you're  facing  a  very  hard  time,  Hugh,  and  I 
don't  feel  that  I  can  accept  the  responsibility  of  encourag- 
ing you  to  do  it." 

"But,goodLord,Alix,  you're  not  encouraging  me.    It's 
the  other  way  round.    You're  a  perfect  wet  blanket; 
you're  an  ice-water  shower.    I'm  doing  this  thing  on  my  ' 
own — " 

"You  know,  Hugh,  I've  seen  your  father  since  you  went 
away." 

IGs  face  brightened. 

"Good!  And  did  he  show  any  signs  of  tacking  to  the 
wind?" 

"Not  a  bit.  He  said  you  would  be  ruined,  and  that  I 
should  ruin  you."  i 

"The  deuce  you  will !    That's  where  he's  got  the  wrong ' 
number,  poor  old  dad!    I  hope  you  told  him  you  would 
marry  me— and  let  him  have  it  straight. ' '  ' 

I  made  no  reply  to  that,  going  on  to  tell  him  all  that  was ' 
said  as  to  bringing  J.  Howard  to  his  knees. 

He  roared  with  ironic  laughter. 

"You  did  have  the  gall !" 

•'Then  you  think  they'll  never,  never  accept  me?" 

"Not  that  way;  not  beforehand." 

Hot  rage  rose  within  me,  against  him  and  them  and  this 
scorn  of  my  personality. 

"I  think  they  will." 

"Not  on  your  life!    Dad  wouldn't  do  it,  not  if  I  was  on  * 
my  death-bed  and  needed  you  to  come  and  raise  me  up  ' 
Milly  IS  the  only  one;  and  even  she  thinks  I'm  the  craziest 
Idiot — 

"Very  weU,  then,  Hugh,"  I  said,  quickly;  "I'm  afraid 
we  must  consider  it  all—" 

139 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He  gathered  me  into  hi.  arms  aa  he  had  done  hrfonL  «w4 

fe* —^W'.  ^"'^"^g^dtosay.whenlhadstn.ggled 
tree.      There  s  honor-^d  perhaps  there's  oride"    n 

to  tmooi^ously  heaped  on  me  to  be  able  to  addT^n 
matter  of  fact,  pride  and  honor,  in  me,  are  as  insL™hi- 

He  was  obhged  to  leave  it  there,  since  he  hL  n^aore 
than  the  toe  to  catch  his  train  for  New  York,  ft^ 
how^.  the  ^nse  of  pride  and  honor  that  cahnM T; 
nen^  when  M^  Rossiter  asked  me  to  take  liSeSZ 
tosee  her  grandfather  in  the  afternoon.    I  h^  d^  rt 

«ugh  had  declared  his  love  for  me.    If  T  went  n^T 
reasoned,  it  would  have  to  be  on  a  newioJti^^^n^  i[ 

r^s:fmTfS!"^^-^^'^«^*«--i^^* 

We  started  a  Uttle  after  three,  as  Gladys  had  to  be  back 

n^  tl    r  rf  °<?°"»^y  at  our  heels,  but  actually 
nosmg  the  shrubbery  in  front  of  us.  or  scouring  thVS 

-^t  be  w,thm  eard^ot  to  come  down  and  contest^ 


txladys  wo^dd  exclami  from  time   to  time,  to  which   I 

would  make  some  suitable  and  instructive  ^5nS."='   ' 

Her  hand  was  m  mme;  her  eyes  as  they  laughed  ud  at 

mewereofthecoloroftheblueconvolvul.^.    InhiX 

140 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

■modBBd  Hberty  silk,  with  a  leghorn  hat  trinaned  with  a 

wreath  of  tiny  roses,  she  made  me  yearn  for  that  bassinet 

between  which  and  myself  there  were  such  stormy  seas  to 

crosr    Everything  was  to  be  up  to  me.    That  was  the 

great  aolemmty  from  which  my  mind  couldn't  get  away     I 

was  to  be  the  David  to  confront  Goliath,  without  so  much 

asashngorastone.    What  I  was  to  do,  and  how  I  was  to 

do  It,  I  knew  no  more  than  I  knew  of  commanding  an  anny 

I  could  only  take  my  stand  on  the  maxim  of  which  I  was 

aaakmg  a  foundation-stone.    I  went  so  far  as  to  beUeve 

that  if  I  did  right  more  right  would  unfold  itself     It 

would  be  like  following  a  trail  through  a  difficult  wood  a 

trail  of  which  you  observe  all  the  notches  and  steps  and 

signs,  sometunes  with  misgivings,  often  with  the  fear  that 

you  re  astray,  hue  on  which  a  moment  arrives  when  you 

Me  with  delight  that  you're  coming  out  to  the  clearing 

So  I  argued  as  I  prattled  with  Gladys  of  such  things  as 

were  m  sight,  of  ships  and  lobster-pots  and  Httle  dogs,  giv- 

mg  her  a  new  word  as  occasion  served,  and  trying  to  keep 

my  mmd  from  terrors  and  remote  anticipations. 

K  you  know  Newport  at  all  you  know  J.  Howard  Bro- 
kenshire's  place  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ochre  Point  Any- 
one would  name  it  as  you  passed  by.  J.  Howard  didn't 
build  the  house;  he  bought  it  from  some  people  who,  it 
seemed,  hadn't  found  in  Newport  the  hospitaUty  of  which 
they  were  m  search.  It  is  gloomy  and  fortress-like,  as  if 
the  architect  had  planned  a  Palazzo  Strozei  which  he 
hadn  t  the  courage  to  carry  out.  That  it  is  incongruous 
with  Its  surroundings  goes  without  saying;  but  then  it  is 
not  more  mcongruous  than  anything  else.  I  had  been  long 
enough  in  America  to  see  that  for  the  man  who  could  build 
on  American  soil  a  house  which  would  have  some  relation 
to  Its  site-as  they  can  do  in  Mexico,  and  as  we  do 
141 


M 


:" ! 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

£  V*^^"^  ^  C««da-£«ae  and  fortune  wouJd 

Ooe  .  fim  m,pre«on.  were  of  gUding  and  rod  damaJc 
m«  one  .  eye  hghted  on  a  chest  or  setUe.  one  could  smeri 

foot  of  the  great  stairway  ebony  sUves  held  gilded  torehw 
in  which  were  electric  lights.  K^-wwrcnes. 

T  SJ-^  ^uT*^'  ^^^^  ""^^^  *o  "«**  Chips,  and 
J.  Howard^who  had  seen  our  approach  across  the  Uwn  as 

we  «me  from  the  Cliff  Walk,  emei^ed  ftom  the  hl^  to 
wdcome  h«  grandchild.    He  wore  a  suit  of  HghS.y 

t^'  t^irt^  **"  "?P«^8ly  i^dsom^  as  usual.  GuS 
t^  greet  hunmth  a  childish  cry.  On  seizing  her  he 
tossed  her  mto  the  air  and  kissed  her  ----^  "«  uc 

oc^W?»,*^%°^'^'*lt°^*^"^'''"*^-  On  previous 
oc«s.ons  I  had  done  the  same  thing;  but  then  I  had  not 

i^:,  r  "T^^*  "^^^  "^t^««d."  I  wondeml  if  to 
would  a«inowledge  the  introduction  now  or  give  me  a 

by  the  hand  and  returned  to  the  Ubraiy 

bef^'^7^'^^^"''^*^-  It  h«l  happened  to  me 
f^r; .  ^  T^.^  ^^^  '"°*°*-^  till  there  was  need 
far  me  again.  I  had  sometimes  seated  myself  in  one  of  the 
hj^  eodesia^ical  hall  diairs.  and  somettTes.  if^e  d^ 

1^J°  .K?"";  ^  ^"^^^  °"t  t°  the  vemnda. 
^  itwas  open  this  afternoon.  I  strolled  toward  the  glimpse 

milliT  f^Po^'bf  ty  I  had  foreseen.    Mrs.  Brokenshire 

r^  "r-,,  ^  "^^^^  ^^'  ^'°  ^^«  touch  with  the 
mystery  of  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Brokenshire  was  not  on  the  veranda,  but  Mrs. 
14a 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Billing  WM.    She  WM  «ated  in  •  law  ea«y-ch«ir.  reading  a 

Frendinowl,  and  had  been  smoldng  cigarette..    Aairtlaid 

ST^  ^^!S^  T*^**  '^  "  S"''^  "e-wtteK^e  and 
ash-tray,  stood  beside  her  on  the  led-tiled  floor 

I  had  forgotten  all  about  her.  as  seemingly  she  had  for- 
goten  about  me.  Her  suiprise  in  seeing  nie  appT  SL 
not  greater  than  mine  at  finding  her.    Instin<^^ 

.^i»>.T'-'''  ^^"^^  '"^  lyi^K  in  her  lap.  J  put 
It  down  without  using  it. 

"  So  it's  you."  was  her  greeting. 

ml  '^iST'.^"":.'""^'"  ^  *t«=«>««d.  respect- 
MJy.      I  didn  t  know  thCTe  was  anybody  here  " 

.'Z.'^T  *°  ^'i''^^^  ^'^'^  **  '^'1'  «»nn>andmgly: 
spitfire.    Did  you  kaow  it  ?" 

nn^'^V",]'^'  ^*^  *^«  Quaker  drawl  I  have 
rtl^^."  th«  older  generation  of  Philadelphians;  but 

"No.  madam;  I  didn't." 

"Wdl.  you  can  know  it  now.    Who  are  you?"    She 
fflade  the  quamt  Httle  gesture  with  ..hich  I  have  seen 
Enghsh  princesses  summon  those  they  wished  to  talk  to 
Ume  over  here  where  I  can  get  a  look  at  you  " 

I  moved  neater,  but  she  didn't  ask  me  to  sit  down.  In 
answer  to  her  question  I  said,  simply,  "I'm  a  Canadian." 
It;sno;,lJ^"''    That's  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl. 

"No,  madam,  nothing  but  a  point  of  view." 

What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 
I  repeated  something  of  my  father's : 
143 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

"TTm  point  o«  view  of  the  EnglUaam  who  miderrtandi 
America  or  of  the  AmwicMj  who  tmdentanda  England  aa 
one  chooses  to  put  it  The  Cawklian  is  the  only  oenon 
who  does  both."  '  *^^ 

"Oh,  indeed?  I'm  not  a  Canadian— and  yet  I  flatter 
myself  I  know  my  England  pretty  weU." 

I  made  so  bold  as  to  smile  dimly. 

"Knowing  and  understanding  are  different  things 
madam,  aren't  they?  The  Canadian  understands  AmeriM 
because  he  is  an  American;  he  understands  England  be- 
«use  he  is  an  Englishman.  It's  only  of  him  that  that  can 
be  said.  You're  quite  right  when  you  label  him  a  point  of 
view  rather  than  a  citizen  or  a  subject." 

"  I  didn't  label  him  anything  of  the  land.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  him,  and  I  don't  care.  What  are  you  be- 
sides being  a  Canadian?" 

"Nothing,  madam,"  I  said,  humbly. 

"Nothing?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  there's  nothing  about  me,  that  I  have  or 
am,  that  I  don't  owe  to  my  country." 

"Oh,  stuff!  That's  tlie  way  we  used  to  talk  in  the 
Umted  States  forty  years  ago." 

"That's  the  way  wo  talk  in  Canada  still,  madam-and 
feeL" 

"Oh,  well,  you'U  get  over  it  as  we  did— when  you're 
more  of  a  people." 

"Most  of  us  would  prefer  to  be  less  of  a  people,  and  not 
get  over  it." 

She  put  up  her  lorgnette. 

"Who  was  your  father?  What  sort  of  people  do  you 
come  from?" 

I  tried  to  bring  out  my  small  store  of  personal  facts,  but 
she  paid  them  no  attention.    When  I  said  that  my  father 
144 


VHE   HIGH   HEART 

hiuib««n  a  judge  of  the  SuprwH.  Court  of  Nov.  Scotia  I 
rmght  have  be«,  calling  hin,  a  voivode  of  Montei^or 
th»P««dentofazen«tvo.  It  wa.  too  remote  3^^ 
^forherm^dtotakein.  I  could  see  her.  howevT 
^^  «y  features,  my  hands,  my  d«ss.  with  the 
sh^d^  eyes  of  a  connoisseur  in  feminine  appearance 
She  broke  into  the  midst  of  my  recital  with  th^^: 

You  can't  be  m  love  with  Hugh  Brokenshire." 
Feanng  attack  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  I  dasoed 
my  hands  with  some  emotion.  i""™^.     clasped 

"Oh,  but.  madam,  why  not?" 
The  reply  nearly  knocked  me  down 
^■^Because  you're  too  sensible  a  girl.    He's  as  stupid  as 

'•He's  ^^  good  and  kind."  was  aU  I  could  find  to  say 
thJT'         u^^'  *^"    ^  «^'  ^^  y°«  '««k  more 

ySTllwr"!^  '°"'^«°°^"°'*^'^-  Heavens  abo^ 
youTl  want  some  spice  in  your  life  I" 

I  maintained  my  meek  air  as  I  said- 
an7bS."°  '^*^°"*  *»>«  ^i**  if  I  could  be  sun,  of  bread 

r.y!''  !f  r"'i?  'T'^^  ^'^  *  ^°°^^  let  me  tell  you  you 
won  t  get  It.  Hugh  '11  never  be  able  to  offer  you  o^  ^ 
his  father  wouldn't  let  him  if  he  was"  '"»™e.«>a 

I  decided  to  be  bold. 

' ,  ZrlT  ^^^  ""^^  ^  ^^  «»«  °ther  day.  madam     I 
expect  his  father  to  come  round"  J'- »"««ni-     i 

it  ^^^"''^  *^*"^**  **^«  *J^t ''*' like  a  hen  when 

"Oh.  you  do,  do  you?    You  don't  know  Howard  Bro- 
tl^/j"  "^-^  "^  ^^  ^°^  easily  S  y^ 

I4S 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
^'*But  I  haven't,"  I  returned,  quietly.    "Now  I'm  going 

"How?  What  with?  You  can't  try  if  you've  nothine 
to  try  on."  ^^ 

"I  have." 

"For  Heaven's  sake— what?" 

I  was  going  to  say,  "Right";  but  I  knew  it  would  sound 
saitentious.  I  had  been  sententious  enough  in  talking 
about  my  country.    Now  I  only  smiled. 

"You  must  let  me  keep  that  as  a  secret,"  I  answered, 
mildly. 

She  gave  herself  what  I  can  only  call  a  hitch  in  her  chair 
Then  may  I  be  there  to  see." 

"I  hope  you  may  be,  madam." 

"Oh,  I'll  come,"  she  cackled.  "Don't  wotiy  about 
Oiat.  Just  let  me  know.  You'll  have  to  fight  like  the 
devil.    I  suppose  you  know  that." 

I-epliedthatldid. 

"And  when  it's  all  over  you'll  have  got  nothing  for  your 
pams." 

"  I  shall  have  had  the  fight." 

She  looked  hard  at  me  before  speaking. 

"Good  girl!"  The  tone  was  that  of  a  spectator  who 
calls  out,  "Good  hit!"  or,  "Good  shot!"  at  a  game  "If 
that's  all  you  want—" 

"No;  I  want  Hugh." 

"Then  I  hope  you  won't  get  him.  He's  as  big  a  dolt 
as  his  father,  and  that's  saying  a  great  deal."  Terrified,  I 
glanced  over  my  shoulder  at  the  house,  but  she  went  on 
impwturbably :  "Oh,  I  know  he's  in  there;  but  what  do  I 
^?  I'm  not  saying  anything  behind  his  back  that  I 
haven't  said  to  his  face.  He  doesn't  bear  me  any  malice, 
either,  I'll  say  that  for  him."  ^^ 

146 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Nobody  could—"  I  began,  de&rentiaUy. 
"Nobody  had  better.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
All  I'm  telling  you  is  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  Hugh 
Biokenshire.  Never  mind  the  money;  what  you  need  is  a 
J  husband  with  brains.  Don't  I  know?  Haven't  I  been 
through  it?  My  husband  was  kind  and  good,  just  like 
Hugh  Brokenshire-and,  O  Lord!  The  sins  of  the  father 
are  visited  on  the  children,  too.  Look  at  my  daughter^ 
pretty  as  a  picture  and  not  the  brains  of  a  white  mouse." 
She  nodded  at  me  fiercely.  "You're  my  kind.  I  can  see 
that.    Mind  what  I  say— and  be  off." 

She  turned  abruptly  to  her  book,  hitching  her  chair  a 
Uttle  away  from  me.  Accepting  my  dismissal,  I  said  in 
the  third  pevson,  as  though  1  was  speaking  to  a  royalty : 

"Madam  flatters  me  too  much;  but  I'm  glad  I  intruded, 
for  the  minute,  just  to  hear  her  say  that. ' ' 

I  had  made  my  courtesy  and  reached  the  door  leading 
inward  when  she  called  after  me : 
"You're  a  puss.     Do  you  know  it?" 
Not  feeling  it  necessary  to  respond  in  words,  I  merely 
smiled  over  my  shoulder  and  entered  the  house. 

In  one  of  the  big  chairs  I  waited  a  half-hour  before  J. 
Howard  came  out  of  the  library  with  his  grandchild.  He 
had  given  her  a  doU  which  she  hugged  in  her  left  arm,  while 
her  right  hand  was  in  his.  The  fareweU  scene  was  pretty, 
and  took  place  in  the  middle  of  the  hall. 

"Now  run  away,"  he  said,  genially,  after  much  kissing 
and  petting,  "and  give  my  love  to  mamma." 

He  might  have  been  shooing  the  sweet  thing  off  into  the 
air.  There  was  no  reference  whatever  to  any  one  to  take 
care  of  her.  His  eyes  rested  on  me,  but  only  as  they  rested 
on  the  wall  behind  me.  I  must  say  it  was  well  done— if 
one  has  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  at  aU.  FeeUng  myself,  as 
147 


m 


THE   HIGH   HEART       ~ 

h^  regard  swept  me,  no  more  than  a  part  of  the  carved 
eccl^bcal  chair  to  which  I  stood  clingtog,  I  woSd 
how  I  was  ever  to  bring  this  man  to  seeing  mf  ^^ 
I  debated  the  question  inwardly  while  I  chatted  with 
Gladys  on  the  way  homeward.  I  was  obUged.  infect  to 
brace  myself ,  to  r^n  it  out  again  that  right  w^s^S 
^agatmgaadwrongnecessarilysterile.  RightlfiguS 
as  a  way  which  seemed  to  fimsh  in  a  blind  alley  or  cK 
^.  but  which.  ^  one  neared  what  seemed  to^ite  S 
led  off  ma  new  direction.  Nearii«  the  end  of  that  t^ 
wmddbestillaaawlead,  and  so  one  would  go  on 

And,  sure  enough,  the  new  lead  came  within  the  nert 
W^hour.  though  I  didn't  recognize  it  for  what  it^U 


CHAPTER  X 

AS  we  passed  the  Jack  Brokenshire  cottage.  Latry 

h^J^TlTJ^^  ^'°^^'  "^^  Noble,  ihe  ^ 
tomiding  bes.de  them,  came  racing  down  the  lawn  to  ove^: 
take  us.    It  was  natural  then  that  for  the  rest  of  the  way 

^to  another,  while  we  two  elders  strolled  along  behind 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  day  for  strolling.    The  mellow 
^««  hght  was  of  the  kind  that  brin?something  n^^ 

W  .  '  !Tf^^  ^^  ^°^^  ^  ^^  t°  ^^  ^  we  knew 
^tocatchrt.  Itwasnotmerelythatgrassandleafand 
sea  had  a  shumner  of  gold  on  them.  There  was  a  sweet 
^^tment  in  the  atmosphere,  a  poignant  ^za^"* 
suggestion  of  emotions  both  higher  and  lower  than  those  of 
ourpoormortalscale.  They  made  one  reluctant  to  hui^ 
oae  s  footeteps.  and  slow  in  the  return  to  that  sheerly  ii 
^  shdter  we  call  home.  All  along  the  path,  down 
^ngthe  rocks,  out  m  the  water,  up  on  the  lawn;,  there 
w«e  people,  g«itle  and  simple  alike,  who  lingered  and 
Idled  and  paused  to  steep  themselves  in  this  m^^ 

I  have  to  admit  that  we  followed  their  example.  Anv- 
t^  s^  as  an  excuse  for  it.  the  dogs  and  the  childmi 
d^g  therefrom  a  sinnlar  instinct.  I  got  the  impres- 
^teo^that  my  oompamon  was  less  in  the  throes  of  the 

<H«MtKmire  had  imposed  upon  ourselves,  for  the  reason 
149 


i 


iff 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

even  if  r  had  mliicted^^^l'^S'  ""'^"^ 
I  was  more  than  piqued  ^  exasperating. 

anS  iL'Ti  tSia  °^S:  S"  ^  ^^  ^-"^ 
Hehad  seen  <?t!<^  ■  "'^'^'y  ^^s  enthusiastic. 
hen^SL  ^  "^^^  and  was  eager  to  be  his 

"He's  got  that  about  him,"  he  dedar«1   "<■»,.+ 
•n^eanybodygladtoworkfehi^"  •    *^* '^^^'^ 

wiS'^njSt^:s^Tr"'^r^^^ 

_'  "^""^^K  short  of  seismic  convulsion  of  the  wi^ 
econonucworldwaslikelytoknockhimoff     lat^e,^ 

It  was  the  gr^at-gxandfather  of  J.  Howard  who  appar- 
150  ^*~' 


IsifiE 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

enay  had  laid  the  foundation-stone  on  which  later  eenem- 
b^  bmlt  so  well.  That  patriarch,  so  I  und«S^S 
be^af^er in  the  Connecticut  VaUey.  H^^^^ 
fi^was  no  more  «»teric  than  that  of  lending  out  sm^ 
«^  of  money  at  a  high  rate  of  interest.  OccasionaChe 
took  m«tgages  on  his  neighbors'  farms,  with  tTSt 

Wiethe  suburbs  of  a  dty  had  spread  over  one  rf  the 
posse^^us  acquired,  the  foundation-stone  tTwScil 
have  i^erred  might  have  been  considered  weU  andSy 

Alxrat  the  year  1830,  his  son  migrated  to  New  York 

bLS^^^,,  continents,  was  founded  when  Van 

Buren  was  m  the  presidential  seat  and  Victoria  just  coming 
to  the  throne.    It  seems  there  was  a  Meek  in  those  days 

SKttS.r"'"^-^-^^-^^^-^^ 

oei^s^-t^-:----^^-^ 

W  ofMeek  &  Brokenshire  forged  to^^^r^^ 

r£^.°fi'^'°T-    ^"°™^EuropeanaiBli    ions. 

Xt  became  tiie  financial  representative  of  a  great  Eur.oean 

^:.^  "•  B'^kenshire,  whose  na^was^^ 

gujied  from  that  of  his  more  famous  son  only  b^a  dS- 

Utbon  of  mitialshadahouseat  Hyde  Park  C^nL  as  well 

^onem  New  York.    He  was  the  fii^  American  banker 

to  become  something  of  an  international  magnate     The 

devdopment  of  his  country  made  him  sT  With  the 

vaed  questions  of  slavery  and  secession  settled,  with 

«ie  phenomenal  expansion  of  the  West,  with  the  freer 

h^H«°L^  ^"^  electricity,  with  the  tightening  of 

bonds  between  the  two  hemispheres,  that  pedestal  was 

"  151 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

being  raised  on  which  J.  Howaid  was  to  poee'with 
such  decorative  effectiveness. 
H:s  poring  began  on  his  father's  death  in  the  year  1808 

tte  p^bemg  occupied  now  by  his  younger  brother  James 
Pohshed  manners,  a  splendid  appearance,  and  an  authori 
totive  a-r  imported  to  New  York  a  touch  of  the  CouZf 
St.  James's.  Mrs.  Billing  had  called  him  a  dolTp^- 
haps  he  was  one.  If  so  he  was  a  dolt  raised  up  and  bus- 
tamed  by  aU  that  was  powerful  in  the  United  Sta^.  1^ 

ZJIill^"^  r*  ^"""'^^  "^^^  than  with  the  man 

hnnself  that,  as  Larry  Strangways  talked,  I  began  to  see  I 
was  m  conflict.  *      w  see  1 

In  Stacy  Grainger.  I  gathered,  the  contemporaneous 
^tol^ent  of  the  country  had  produced  ^t^ 
Affect,  just  ^  &e  same  pie«,  of  ground  will  grow^ 
oak  or  a  rose-bush,  according  to  the  seed.    People  with 

W^^'  1  ^f  !*?«8^ays  considered  this  description  be- 
low the  level  of  the  ancestral  Grainger's  occupation,  fe 
tte  days  of  scattered  farms  and  difficult  communication 
throughout  Il^ois,  Wisconsin,  and  Minnesota^^gW 
bett^  have  been  tenned  an  itinerant  merchant.  He  w^ 
the  travelmg  salesman  who  delivered  the  goods.    HU 

^ysbemgmade  by  river  boats  and  ox-teai^s,  hebeS^ 

^Z.^\T^'^°^''^-    H^wasofthe^oup^ 

^^lV^^°^  ^"^y^'  ^««  °f  whichTailrfSd 
^of  which  succeeded,  through  the  regions  west  of  Lake 

^tr  "  the  incipient  Chicago.  Ss  wander^ 
y^  havmg  given  hmi  an  idea  of  the  value  of  this^ 
point,  he  put  his  savings  into  land.    The  phoenix  rise  of  the 

City  after  the  great  fire  made  him  a  man  of  sonH^S! 
IS* 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Out  of  the  financial  crash  of  1873  he  oecame  richer.  His 
son  grew  ncher  stiU  on  the  panic  of  1893,  when  he  too 
desc^xl^lonNewYork.  It  was  he  whoL^S  a  ji.^ 
on  the  Stock  Exchange  and  bought  the  big  houL^^ 
wluch  parts  of  my  narrative  will  have  to  do 

St™!!l''^',*°  ^l  ""^  "  *'^*  ^  ^  ^'""«d  with  Larry 
Stra^ays  along  that  sunny  walk,  and  as  he  ran  on  about 

fZ^fT"  ^'^f'^^S^'-.  I  sot  my  first  bit  of  insight 
mto  the  mimense  American  romance  which  the  nineteenth 

^'.IV^  f"*  *,'™  ^  ""y  ^^^  I  '^'^^  that  there 

bSSiS     ^^^'""^""''^''"*'^^^^°^*« 

I  could  see  that  Larry  Strangways  was  proud-proud 

^de  was  m  the  way  in  which  he  held  his  fine  young  head; 

STnTv  "^"^  "".  ^  *°"^'  ^"^  "°^  and  then  in  the 

It  was  about  the  country  that  he  talked-its  growth  its 

v^ness.    Even  as  recently  as  when  he  was  a  Kw2 

?o  moTr.'"^"'  *"°^'  '^^  "  P^P'^tion  reckLed  ^ 
no  more  than  seventy  or  eighty  millions.  It  had  been 
^ogeneous  m  ^irit  if  not  in  blood,  and  those  who^ 

accepted  their  new  situation  with  some  gratitude  Patri 
ST.^  ""^  a  w^  with  a  meaning,  ^d  if  it  now  ^ 
then  became  spread-eagleism  it  was  only  as  the  wa^ 
^thrown  too  far  inland  become  froth.  The  wl^^ 
the  thing  and  it  hadn't  ebbed.  ine  wave  was 

"And  do  you  think  it  has  ebbed  now?"  I  asked. 
"  w        *  *°^'^  ^'^^  question  directly. 
We're  becoming  colossal.    We  shall  soon  count  our 
people  by  the  hundred  milUon  and  more.    Of  these  X 
>S3 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

I  tried  to  be  encounging. 

'■You  seem  to  me  anything  but  that." 

fe^  peoples  in  the  world  more  indivSy  dili^TtC 

J^fW«.  and  a  pr^  ;„  any^^X  STtol^S: 

^^you  ti^thlscountryis  on  the  way  tobelngthe 

"Idon't  say  on  the  way.  There's  danger  of  it  In 
Iw>Portion  as  we  too  become  unwieldy  anlnv«*^  *^ 
-«J^tion  of  that  national  imX  thSfiTStl^ 
ffows  slower.  The  elephant  is  a  heavily  mo^ag^S 
comparison  with  the  lion."  "wnag  oeasc  m 

'But  it's  the  more  intellieent  "  T  nr^,^  _i_ii     . . 
dispositiontobeencomS^      I  argued,  still  with  a 

^teUigenoe  won't  save  it  when  the  lion  leaps  on  its 
"Then  what  will?" 
"That's  what  we  want  to  find  out." 
IS4 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"And  bem  are  you  going  to  do  it  ?" 
I'Byinen.    We've  come  to  a  time  when  the  country  is 
^  to  need  stronger  men  than  it  ever  had,  and  more  of 

I  WKWse  it  is  because  I  am  a  woman  that  I  have  to 
Ming  aU  questions  to  the  personal. 

"And  is  your  Stacy  CJrainger  going  to  be  one?" 
^He  walked  on  a  few  paces  without  replying,  his  head  in 

"No,"  he  said,  at  last,  "I  don't  think  bo.    He's  got  a 
weakness. 
"What  kind  of  weakness?" 

"rm  not  going  to  tell  you,"  he  laughed.  "It'senoueh 
to  say  that  It  s  one  which  I  think  will  put  him  out  of  com- 
misaonforthejob."  He  gave  me  some  inkling,  however 
of  what  he  meant  when  lie  added:  "The  country's  comine 
to  a  place  where  it  wiU  need  disinterested  men,  and  whol^ 
hearted  mm  and  dean-hearted  men,  if  it's  going  to  puU 
through.  It  s  extraordinary  how  deficient  we've  been  in 
leaders  whove  had  any  of  these  characteristics,  to  say 
nothing  of  all  three."  ' 

"  Is  the  United  States  singular  in  that  ?" 

t  ^tuT^  ^  *  half-jesting  tone,  probably  to  hide  the 
tact  that  he  was  so  much  in  earnest. 

"No;  perhaps  not.  But  it's  got  to  have  them  if  it's 
gomg  to  be  saved.  Moreover,"  he  went  on.  "it  must  find 
than  among  the  young  men.  The  older  men  are  all  steeped 
Md  branded  and  tarred  and  feathered  with  the  mate- 
njJ«m  of  the  nineteenth  century.  They're  perfectly 
sodden.  They  see  no  patriotism  except  in  loyalty  to  a 
pohtiaU  machine;  and  no  loyalty  to  a  poUtical  machine 
Mcept  for  what  they  can  get  out  of  it.  From  our  Presi- 
dents down  most  of  them  will  sacrifice  any  law  of  right  to 
iSS 


' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


S  ^Z"^-^^^  ^'  «ali«  that  dde  ti^e. 

w«a    ««do«r  older  men  wm  never  leam  the  factyK^ 
can  t  wake  the  younger  men.  we'«  done  for."  "^^    "  ** 
„  ™*^  *^  you  going  to  wake  them  r 
Im  going  to  be  awake  myself.    That's  aM  T  «-  k. 

?S^"h£;.  "^-^^-^^er^^fh^s^aS 

'm^^^"^^^    I  should  think  you  could." 
^Hetan.edroundonme.    I  shall  never  forget  the  gleam 

thinS'oT?  '"J^.B^S  to  g«t  away  with  this  thing  who 
^  of  leadership.    There  a«  times  in  the  hist^c^ 

It  .^  ^  •  "M  ^  *^*^*  *^*  *^«  «  approaS 
LS-Tn?*°  ^"^  ^  °"^  -^y  ^d  to'^eriS 
fTTh;^*.'*!!r°«  *»«"»•'■    There'Ubeacallfor- 

I  wascunous. 

Hfi:^  tr^:^^:^-''^  c^-tionr 

f^  ^  Ti?°*  ^  "*"  ^""^  '''^t  tWs  country  stands 
•Z^  ^y,-"^"  ^  i'  ""^  "^^"^  thick^'*^? 
SrL?i.^  r^  *""'"  ^  thi'^k-plenty  of  them 

^LK  th«re  had  been  ten  righteous  men  in  Sodom  and 
Gomortah  ^ey  wouldn't  have  been  destroyed.  I  take 
t^akmdoffigure.  A  handful  of  disint«4ted.  wh^J 
Sd^l"^^  ^  P"'"'"  ^  °"Sht  to  add  stout 

2t  L     u  !  .    '  ^°^  ^«*^  *"  «^°rts.  within  and  with- 
out, to  pull  rt  down."    He  paused  in  his  walk.  obliiT, 
IS6 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

*"-^*!!".*T»-  "I''«  >*«»  «"inW'«  »  good  deal."  he 
^ed,  dunng  the  part  few  week!  o(  your  Uw  of  Right- 
wrtha  capital.    I  laughed  at  it  when  you  lint  ipoke  of 

"Oh,  hardly  that,"  I  interposed. 

"But  I've  come  to  believe  that  it  will  work." 
"I'm  80  glad." 

"  In  fact,  it's  the  only  thing  that  will  work." 

"Exactly,"  I  exclaimed,  enthusiastically. 

"We  must  stand  by  it,  we  younger  men,  just  as  the 
younger  men  of  the  late  fifties  stood  by  the  principles 
represented  by  Lincoln.    I  believe  in  my  heart  that  the 

need  is  going  to  be  greater  for  us  than  it  was  for  them,  and 
If  we  don't  respond  to  it,  then  may  the  Lord  have  mercv 
on  our  souls." 

I  give  this  scrap  of  conversation  because  it  introduced 
a  new  note  into  my  knowledge  of  Americans.  I  had  not 
supposed  that  any  Americans  felt  like  that.  In  the  Ros- 
siter  circle  I  never  saw  anything  but  an  immense  self- 
satisfaction.  Money  and  what  money  could  do  was,  I  am 
sure,  the  only  topic  of  their  thought.  Their  ideas  of  pod- 
tion  and  privily  were  all  spuriously  European.  Nothinit 
was  mdigenous.  Except  for  their  sense  erf  money,  their 
anns  were  as  foreign  to  the  soil  as  their  pictures,  their 
tapestnes,  their  furniture,  and  their  clothes.  Even 
stranger  I  found  the  imitation  of  Europe  in  tastes  which 
Eurqpe  was  daily  giving  up.  But  in  Larry  otrangways,  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  found  something  native,  something  that 
really  hved  and  cared.  It  caused  me  to  look  at  him  with  a 
new  mterest. 

His  jesting  tone  allowed  me  to  take  my  cue  in  the  same 
vein. 

"I'm  tremendously  flattered,  Mr.  Strangways,  that  you 
157 


ill: 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

He  l«a«hed  shortly  a^  rmtherlumlly. 
Oh.  It  it  was  only  that  I" 

JtZV.T'^  <rf  the  thing.  I  wiri«d  he  hadn't  «id 
but  with  the  word,  he  rtarted  on  again.  walldngrfLnor 
afcw  pace,  that  I  nmde  no  eflForT  to  ktep^^S^l^ 

WI^  waited  tiU  I  rejoined  him  we  feS^  to  t£ 
of  Stacy  Grainger.  At  the  fi«t  opportmTl  Mtadttf 
q««sfaon  that  wa.  chiefly  on  my  mind  *^ 

He  marched  on,  with  head  eract 
sJ^^X^'"^'  '^-'^"^.  ^^  -  tiU 
There  was  a  big  fight,  wasn't  there,"  I  persisted  "h^ 
^e«jhnnand  Mr.  Brokenshir^ver  k^^nS-t 
the  Stock  Exchange-^  something  like  that?"    ^^^^ 
Again  he  allowed  some  seconds  to  go  by. 
So  I've  heard." 

»«*edine,  I  could  hardly  teU  from  where. 

Uidn  t  Mr.  Brokenshiie  attack  his  intM«t«_„-i 
and  Steel  and  thiags-^d  near^SS^^^''*^ 
I  beheve  there  was  some  such  talk  " 
I  admired  the  way  in  which  he  refused  to  lend  himself  to 

^^A  *^^ '?*"'=   but  I  insisted  on  ^^ 
because  the  idea  of  this  conflict  of  modem  m»„r»  ^.J^' 

from  ^t         *  t^  ^"-  ^^S  '"^^  ~^d  ^Tf  S; 
Te^.T''v.'^"^*°'^e'^°e«"derto-?" 

•■G^!!?'  "".'""*  "^"^  ^^  «^^°S ''  ^°a>er  twist. 
Grmngers  been  unlucky.    His  whole  famaThave 
158 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

been  unlucky.  It't  an  intUnce  o£  tragedy  haunting  a 
race  nch  as  one  reads  o£  in  mythology  and  now  and  then 
in  modem  history— the  house  of  Atreus.  for  ejcample,  and 
the  Stuarts,  and  f'.c  Hapabuigs,  and  so  on." 

I  questioned  -.n  u  to  thia,  only  to  learn  of  a  aeries  of 
accidents,iuif  1.  c.,.ii<;  ,m  o  :cn  '.jaths,  leaving  Stacy  as  the 
last  <rf his lir< '  '  I'.c.y  and  |..c  m.  que. 

At  the  fo  .  oi  ine  oUis  1  adu  'jp  to  the  Roeiaiter  lawn 
Larry  Stram  wjvs  f'ni^ti  ., -  ;.,  Jhe  children  and  dogs 
having  pi  ceded  -  •..  I  ;,..„.  ,,fe  on  their  own  grounds, 
we  could  Loni'dt'  '.Iic.nofTourminds. 

"What  do  >ou  k  low  hcYut  old  books?"  he  asked 
suddenly.  ' 

The  question  to<.k  ,ae  so  much  by  surprise  that  I  could 
only  say: 

"What  makes  you  think  I  know  anything?" 

"Didn't  your  father  have  a  library  full  of  them?  And 
didn't  you  catalogue  them  and  seU  them  in  London?" 

I  admitted  this,  but  added  that  even  that  undertaking 
had  left  me  very  ignorant  of  the  subject. 

"Yes;  but  it's  a  beginning.  If  you  know  the  Greek  or 
Russian  alphabet  it's  a  very  good  point  from  whidi  to  go 
on  and  learn  the  language." 

"But  why  should  I  learn  that  language?" 

"Because  I  know  a  man  who's  going  to  have  a  vacancy 
soon  for  a  librarian.  It's  a  private  library,  rather  a 
famous  one  in  New  York,  and  the  young  lady  at  present  in 
command  is  leaving  to  be  married." 

I  smiled  pleasantly. 

"Yes;  but  what  has  that  got  to  do  with  me?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  going  to  look  you  up  another 
job?" 

"Oh I    And  so  you've  looked  me  up  this!" 
»59 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


lij;  >' 


Amenoan  splurge.  Stacy  GiairJ^w^H^  ^*  ^^* 
Chinese  jar  fr«m  time  iJthT^)^^^  a  rug  or  a 
for  the  lot."  °'"*™«' •»*'»«  doesn't  give  a  hang 

"Oh,  so  it's  his." 

^Z;  tttolJffi  ^affpittt ?.  ^-*  «•" 
W  the  very  young  ladyfeXp^?.*°  -^  *^*  ^  ^ 

he  do  something  ^T^g^J^fl*  '^  ««>-^d.  couldn't 
"WhypoorHugh?    I  thought  he  wa^" 

turi^g  to  tjr^y  Ht^r"*«'^'  ""^  "^  ^  Boston,  ven- 
po^ble  ad^4f  ^^^'^^^  f-  the  sake  of  some 
iJioulders.  Strangways  only  shrugged  his 

"Of  course,"  he  said     "What  ^.u 
was  sure  he  was  lootoi^  H  J!^         ^.  ^°^  ^P^^"    I 
M«.  RossiterSdeSTTw .^*^  ^'^  ^^P"^"" 

eye  to  catch  hTin  £S*  ^"t  r^t  *  '"^  *°  "'^  ^ 
jjijjj,,.  <a«acc.       xou  really  mean  to  marry 

"Mean  to  marry  him  is  not  th«.  t»n».  -  t 
the  decision  w^Helt^rl^^S^ir-^'-th 
to  many  him  only-^  conditions"         '°'-      ^""^ 

I^SStT'    ^*»^d  of  contritions?" 

-xfHS:r^SdZie:^  -  -- 

He  repeated  his  short,  hard  laugh 
I  don  t  beUeve  you  had  better  bank  on  that  " 
Perhaps  not,"  I  admitted     "B^t^       lu 
to  my  bow     H«  fo-^T^  '  ^  ^  another  strinjt 

^yoow.    Htt  family  may  come  and  ask  me" 
i6o 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He  almost  shouted. 

"Neverl" 

It  was  the  tone  they  all  took,  and  which  espedally 
enraged  me.  I  kept  my  voice  steady,  however,  as  I  said, 
"That  remains  to  be  seen." 

"It  doesn't  remain  to  be  seen,  because  I  can  tell  you 
now  that  they  won't." 

"And  I  can  tell  you  now  that  they  will,"  I  said,  with  an 
assurance  that,  on  the  surface  at  least,  was  quite  as  strong 
as  his  own. 

He  laughed  again,  more  shortly,  mote  hardly. 
"Oh,  well!" 

The  laugh  ended  in  a  kind  of  sigh.  I  noted  the  sigh  as  I 
noted  the  laugh,  and  their  relation  to  each  other.  Both 
reached  me,  touching  something  within  me  that  had  never 
yet  been  stirred.  Physically  it  was  like  the  prick  of  the 
spur  to  a  spirited  animal,  it  sent  me  bounding  up  the 
steps.  I  was  oif  as  from  a  danger;  and  though  I  would 
have  given  much  r .  see  the  ejcpression  with  which  he  stood 
gazing  after  me,  I  would  not  permit  myself  so  much  as  to 
glance  back. 


ill 


CHAPTER  XI 

much  d««l  wcUd  fc  tol^  ^°^  "^^  ■»  *"°  ""!■ 
reached  Newr>ot+  r^fThT^  'mienable.    The  reports  that 

-d  B:^  street.  <^T^t'Z7X"'  "  ""^  '*^' 

fair  speeches  but  he  fn,,^^    ^^  °^  half-promises  and 

received  at  the  hands  oTc™,^^  a^      ta;eatment  he  had 
ute  his  card  wen^nt."^'^^  Brew.    Themin- 

tight  thing  to  offer  1'.  ^^^l^^''^  ^  ^^ 
was  explained  to  him  that  it  1^7       ,      ^  ^°'^-    ^^ 

102 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

tte  yeaj>-«nd  of  the  lack  of  an  opening  which  it  would 
be  worth  the  while  of  a  man  of  hia  quality  to  fill.  Later, 
perhapsl  The  two  words,  courteously  spoken,  gave 
the  gist  of  all  his  interviews.  He  had  every  reason  to 
feel  satisfied. 

In  the  mean  while  he  was  comfortable  at  his  dub— his 
cash  m  hand  would  hold  out  to  Christmas  and  beyond- 
and  m  the  matter  of  energy,  he  wrote,  not  a  mushitxm  was, 
spnngmg  m  his  tracks.  He  was  on  the  job  early  and  late 
day  m  and  day  out.  The  off  season  which  was  obviously 
a  disadvantage  in  some  respects  had  its  merits  in  others 
smoe  It  would  be  known,  when  things  began  to  look  up 
agam,  that  he  was  available  for  any  big  house  that  could 
get  him.  That  there  would  be  competition  in  this  respect 
every  one  had  given  him  to  understand.  All  this  he  told 
me  m  letters  as  full  of  love  as  they  were  of  business,  written 
in  a  great,  sprawling,  unformed,  boyish  hand,  ^d  with  an 
occasional  bit  of  phonetic  spelling  which  made  his  pro- 
testations the  more  touching. 

But  Jim  Rossiter's  sources  of  information  were  of 
another  kind. 

"Get  your  father  to  Jo  something  to  stop  him  "  he 
wrote  to  his  wife.  "He's  making  the  whole  houU  of 
Meek  &  Brokenshire  a  laughing-stock." 

There  came,  in  fact,  a  Saturday  when  Mr.  Rossiter  actu- 
ally appeared  for  the  week-end. 

"He  wouldn't  be  doing  that,"  Mrs.  Rossiter  ahnost 
sobbed  to  me,  on  receipt  of  the  telegram  announcing  his 
approach,  "unless  things  were  pretty  bad." 

Though  I  dreaded  his  coming,  I  was  speedily  reassured 

Whatever  the  object  of  Mr.  Rossiter's  visit,  I,  in  my  own 

pereon,  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.    On  the  afternoon  of  his 

amval  he  came  out  to  where  I  was  knocking  the  croquet 

163 


I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

balb  al»at  with  Gladys  on  the  kwn.  and  was  as  oolite  « 
to  had  been  through  the  winter  in  N«.  ^"S  ™ 

Jovial  *-WvTcouJii^^BS.°HTS:  Ht^ 

sru^,^i^rhifhSrrsi"^^^^-- 

o/w='r,!^^'^'''^y'^^'^t««i«pn°w.    He  talked 

Exi^  .^  "^"^  ^"^  *^«  beastly  cooking  at^ 
Expecting  bm  to  broach  the  subject  of  HuTf Jf^i 
ready;  but  he  did  nothing  of  the  k^d     w^  ^^"^^ 

2SSich2?J7*'T°'"^^*^*^-'^fl-*Si 

•."or  oeseectungs  and  cajolenes.    He  was  tn  o™,,-.  4.«  u- 
^■.  he  was  to  be  delt  to  his  fa^^  ^e^  to  ^S 

had  put  him  through  most  of  the  tortures  known  to 
164 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

fraternal  inquisitioii;  but  he  wrote  me  he  would  bear  it  all 
and  more,  for  the  sake  of  wimiing  me. 

Nor  would  he  allow  them  to  have  everything  their  own 
way.  That  he  wrote  me,  too.  When  it  came  to  the  ques- 
tion of  marriage  he  bade  them  look  at  home.  Each  of 
them  was  an  instance  of  what  J.  Howard  could  do  in  the 
matrimonial  line,  and  what  a  mess  he  and  they  had  made  of 
it!  He  asked  Jack  in  so  many  words  how  much  he  would 
have  been  in  love  with  Pauline  Gray  if  she  hadn't  had  a  big 
fortune,  and,  now  that  he  had  got  her  money  and  her,  how 
true  he  was  to  his  compact.  Who  were  Tiixie  Delorme 
and  Baby  Sevan,  he  demanded,  with  a  knowledge  of 
Jack's  afiairs  which  ccanpelled  the  elder  brother  to  tell 
him  to  mind  his  own  business. 

Hugh  laughed  scornfully  at  that. 

"I  can  mind  my  own  business.  Jack,  and  still  keep  an 
eye  on  yours,  seeing  that  you  and  Pauline  are  the  talk  of 
the  town.  K  she  doesn't  divorce  you  within  the  next  five 
years,  it  will  be  because  you've  already  divorced  her. 
Even  that  won't  be  as  big  a  scandal  as  your  going  on 
living  together." 

Mr.  Rossiter  intei  vened  on  this  and  did  his  best  to  cahn 
the  younger  brother  down : 

"Ah,  cut  that  out  now,  HughP' 

But  Hugh  rounded  on  him,  shaking  off  the  hand  that 
had  been  laid  on  his  arm. 

"You're  a  nice  one,  Jim,  to  come  with  jrour  mealy- 
mouthed  talk  to  me.  Look  at  Ethel!  If  I'd  married  a 
woman  as  you  married  het^-or  if  I'd  been  married  as  she 
married  you— just  because  your  father  was  a  partner  in 
Meek  &  Brokenshire  and  it  was  well  to  keep  the  money  in 
the  family^-if  I'd  done  that  I'd  shut  up.  I'd  consider 
myself  too  low-down  a  cur  to  be  kicked.    What  kind  of  a 

rfs 


TOT   HIGH   HEART 


non-committal  wav  T  »«„<.„  T^      "«  mce  to  me  in  her 

and  wa.  working  oT^e  iSrtaTo?'.""'  *tf 
anmcidenthastenedmydepS^      '  ^  ^°"^'  "^ 

P^^a^o-SlreL^-roS^^^^ 

by  m  an  open  motor  landaulette     -5^1    •    '  7.^  ^°^ 

st^.  and  poking  the  SSSfin  ttb^^^J" 

I  greeting  She  began  to  stir  things  round  in  her 
Oa«-  I  thought  you'd  Uke  it.  I've  been^-  ^ 
about  with  me  for  the  last  three  or  C  ^Z^T^„  '* 
Ja^  Brokenshire  got  back  from  New  Yorn^^T 
dickens  is  the  thing?    Ah  herei"    <5},A     J  ^  ** 

i66 


THE   HIGH    HEART 

By  the  time  I  got  back  to  Mrs.  Rossiter's  I  had  solved 
what  had  at  first  been  a  puzzle,  and,  having  reported 
on  my  errand,  I  gave  my  resignation  verbally.  I  saw  then 
-^hat  old  Mrs.  Billing  had  also  seen— that  it  was  time. 
Mrs.  Rossiter  expressed  no  relief,  but  she  made  no  attempt 
todissuademe.  That  she  was  sorry  she  allowed  me  to  see. 
She  didn't  speak  of  Hugh;  but  on  the  morning  when  I 
went  she  gave  up  her  engagements  to  stay  at  home  with 
me.  As  I  said  good-by  she  threw  her  anns  round  my 
neck  and  kissed  me.  I  could  feel  on  my  cheek  tears  of 
hers  as  well  as  tears  of  my  own,  as  I  drew  down  my  veil. 

Hugh  met  me  at  the  station  in  New  York,  and  we  dined 
at  a  restaurant  together.  He  came  for  me  next  morning, 
and  we  lunched  and  dined  at  restaurants  again.  When 
we  did  the  smne  on  the  third  day  that  sense  of  being  in  a 
false  position  which  had  been  with  me  from  the  first,  and 
which  argument  couldn't  counteract,  began  to  be  dis- 
quieting. On  the  fourth  day  I  tried  to  make  excuses  and 
remain  at  the  hotel,  but  when  he  insisted  I  was  obliged 
to  let  him  take  me  out  once  more.  The  people  at  the 
Mary  Chilton  were  kindly,  but  I  was  afraid  they  would 
regard  me  with  suspicion.  I  was  afraid  of  some  other 
things,  besides. 

For  one  thing  I  was  afraid  of  Hugh.  He  began  again  to 
idead  with  me  to  marry  him.  Even  he  admitted  that  we 
couldn't  continue  to  "go  round  together  like  that."  We 
went  to  the  most  expensive  restaurants,  he  argued,  where 
there  were  plenty  of  people  who  would  know  him.  When 
they  saw  him  every  day  with  a  girl  they  didn't  know,  they 
would  draw  their  own  conclusions.  As  in  a  situation 
similar  to  theirs  I  would  have  drawn  my  own,  I  brought 
my  bit  of  Bohemianism  to  a  speedy  end. 
There  followed  some  days  during  which  it  seemed  to  me 
"  167 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


Never  tJJI  tlusa  had  I  «»^^u      *'**  ^  ^"  living  for 
-ch  day  « ,i^\^^^  ^  no««,  eS^; 

«^-    Here  the  link  wLl^^lL'^  «*«»«»  inor- 
"'hea  I  went  to  bed;  I  hJ^hJ.  f    ""^^  ""^ 

mentahead.  IftheconttoX^w1^^°°*^*'*^op- 
t°  ««  Lany  St«^^^rr^^8ofrighton  whiX 
'^tocometoa3iTo„^^°"'  ^  had  banked, 
duty,  but  wfthout  S  SSf  ♦  '^'  °°*  °^y  ^^«^ 
latter  1  di^ed  m^  ^J^^T^^^^^^it^^O^ 
^  Within  oneT^SthcS^  ,r  '^/,r  ""  '  "^- 
«^g  to  the  last  stretches  of  „1,^     ^1  ^"^  «  I  was 

^  love  with  xne^  r^  S)*/^*  ^«  '^''t  be 
only  knew  I  was     T  ,1 J    J?^,  7^^' ^  didn't  know  I 

M...  Rossit.randS1^:2^V'''^°"'^'>«'^^ 
side^  that  I  Vrsw^^J^P"^'  f  New  Yoric  I  oT 

.and  hehinself  waitingT^^^-  ^"*  »««  was  his  caid. 
NatmaUy  my  fer?„^^'^K-«»m  below. 

-e-t.  'nnshrSS^^'^^^.h<-hehadfo«„d 
'"th  me  for  coming  to  tte^'tft^f^  *°  '^  «^°y«l 
««Jd  see,  however,  ^  he  tl  ?^  ^°"*  ^^«  ^-  I 
allow  of  hi3  being  Si;  ^^«^««ch  too  high  to 
P«»n^weUwithhiin^^^^T*^^y«^-  ^ 
HeMjoyedhisworicandforhis 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

emi^yer  he  had  that  eager  penonal  devotion  which  ia  m1- 
wayt  a  herald  <rf  success.    After  having  run  away  fian 

him,  as  it  were,  I  was  now  a  little  irritated  at  seeing  that  he 
hadn't  missed  me. 

But  he  did  not  take  his  leave  without  a  bit  of  inf  onnation 
that  puzded  me  beyond  expression.  He  was  going  out  of 
Mr.  Grainger's  office  that  morning,  he  said,  with  a  bundle 
of  letters  which  he  was  to  answer,  when  his  master 
observed,  casually: 

"The  young  lady  of  whom  you  spoke  to  me  as  qualified 
to  take  Miss  Davis's  place  is  at  the  Hotel  Mary  Chilton. 
Go  and  see  her  and  get  her  opinion  as  to  accepting  the 
job  I" 
I  was  what  the  French  call  a««r&— knocked  flat 
"But  how  on  earth  could  he  know?" 
Larry  Strangways  laughed. 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me.  He  knows  anything  he  wants  to 
know.  He's  got  the  flair  of  a  detective.  I  don't  try  to 
fathom  him.  But  the  point  is  that  the  position  is  there 
for  you  to  take  or  to  leave." 

I  tried  to  bring  my  mind  back  from  the  fact  that  this 
important  man,  a  total  stranger  to  me,  was  in  some  way 
interested  in  my  destiny. 

"What  can  I  do  but  leave  it,  when  I  know  no  more  about 
it  than  I  do  of  sailing  a  ship?" 

"Oh  yes,  you  do.  You  know  what  books  are,  and  you 
know  what  rare  books  are.  For  the  rest,  all  you'd  have  to 
do  would  be  to  consult  the  catalogue.  I  don't  know  what 
thedutiesare;  but  if  Miss  Davis  is  up  to  them  I  guess  you 
would  be,  too.  She's  a  sweet,  pretty  kitten  of  a  thing— 
dmghter  of  one  of  Stacy  Grainger's  old  pals  who  came  to 
grief— but  I  don't  believe  she  knows  much  more  about  a 
book  than  the  cover  from  the  print.  Anyhow,  I've  given 
169 


m 


I 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


that  I  could  d»ow  youwh«  (STk!^  "^  '"">  «••  «> 
niinute.  away.  rvTnlrtii  ^''^  ^'  It's  not  tea 
kn<««  whatitlooLlk^  "^  "^"^  '*'  ««t  emy  ^ 

at  the  office."  ^  **"  ^~^«  »  message  for  him 

stStTirSj^l^lSj-^^-neofthec^ss. 
««*  Stacy  Grainger^  W^^T^T  Jl  ^^''^ 
Avenue  and  a  coiresponX  ^L!l^!  '^  '^  ^^ 
down-town.  It  isTbig  b^w^fr  *  '?**''  ^"^^ 
teen-seventy  style  of  the  t3T^  ''°^'  "  the  eigh- 
^edi„tooffiL-S^S£'^«»-<?'thasb£. 
Winded  in  a  yellowish  tXd  ^*^  ^^  T'r '"^ 
bujlding an  aspect  sealed  anddeS^'  ^  ^  *°  **  ""^ 
I  shuddered.  ^^' 

;;i^bopeIdaouldn'thave  to  work  there." 
i>o.     iiie  house  has  been  =1,..* 

S^  the  hotel  ovXSt£"l"P^"^y^"    He 

9«wger  actuaUy  lived     -^vv!,     ,     ^*  '''^^  ^tacy 

t^  place;  but  he  has  a  lot  of^^^^  ^^  "^"^^  ^^^  «>« 

?f  the  two  or  three  d^otiS Tv'*?  """"*  ^'^^  ^• 

-tense  is  to  his  father^mSy     /bS'  """'J  *«  -"^ 

fommitted  suicide  in  that  E'ani^^  *^  "'"^  ^^<^ 

he  would  a  grave."     ^^  ^' *°^  <*«««  hallows  it  as 

"Cheerful!" 

170 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

"Oh,  dieerful  Wt  the  word  one  would  iMocUta  with 
hmfifft— " 

"OrlMt,»pparetttIy." 

"I^,  or  last;  but  he's  got  other  qualities  to  which 
«»erfuhiess  is  as  small  change  to  grid.  Alllwantyouto 
see  u  that  he  keeps  this  property,  which  is  worth  half  a 
fflilhon  at  the  least,  from  motives  whfch  the  immense 

majority  wouldn't  uadetitand.    It  gives  you  a  ch»  to  the 
num." 

"But  what  I  want."  I  said,  with  nervous  flippancy,  for 
I  was  afraid  of  meeting  Hugh,  "is  a  due  to  the  Ubrary." 

"There  it  is." 

"That?" 

He  had  pointed  to  a  small,  low,  rectangular  building  I 
had  seen  a  hundred  times,  without  the  curiosity  to  wonder 
what  it  was.  It  stood  behind  the  house,  in  the  center  of 
a  grass-plot,  and  was  approached  from  the  cross-street, 
through  a  small  wrought-iron  gate.  Built  of  brownstone, 
wthout  a  window,  and  with  no  other  ornament  than  a 
friesem  relief  below  the  eave,  it  suggested  a  tomb.  At  the 
bade  was  a  kind  of  covered  doister  connecting  with  the 


"If  I  had  to  sit  in  there  all  day,"  I  commented,  as  we 
turned  back  toward  the  hotd,  "  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were 
buried  alive.  I  know  that  strange  things  would  happen- 
tome!" 

"Oh  no,  they  wouldn't.  It's  sure  to  be  all  right  or  a 
pretty  little  thing  like  Miss  Davis  couldn't  have  stood  it 
for  three  years.  It's  Hghted  from  the  top,  and  there  are  a 
lot  of  fine  things  scattered  about." 

He  gave  me  a  brief  history  of  how  the  collection  had  been 
tonaed.    The  dder  Grainger  on  coming  to  New  York  had 
bought  up  the  contents  of  two  or  three  great  European 
171 


MiarocorY  mscxution  tut  chait 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


1 2.8 


J2. 

■  2.2 


jig- 


^     /IPPLIED  IIVMGE     Inc 

1653  East   Wain   Street 

Rochestir,   New  York         14609       USA 

(716)   482  -0300-  Phone 

(716)   2flB-  5989  -  Fij« 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

sales  en  bloc.  He  knew  little  about  the  objects  he  had  thus 
acquired,  and  cared  less.  His  motive  was  simply  that  of 
the  rich  American  to  play  the  nobleman. 

He  was  still  talking  of  this  when  Hugh  passed  us  and 
turned  round.  Between  the  two  men  there  was  a  stiff 
form  of  greeting.  That  is,  it  was  stiff  on  I^arry  Strang- 
ways's  side,  while  on  Hugh's  it  was  the  nearest  thing  to  no 
greeting  at  all.  I  could  see  he  considered  the  tutor  of  his 
sister's  son  beneath  him. 

"What  the  devil  were  you  walking  with  that  fellow  for?" 
he  asked,  after  Mr.  Strangways  had  left  us  and  while  we 
were  continuing  our  way  up-town.  He  spoke  wondering- 
ly  rather  than  impatiently. 

"Because  he  had  come  from  a  gentleman  who  had 
offered  me  employment.  I  had  just  gone  down  with 
him  to  look  at  the  outside  of  the  house." 

I  could  hardly  be  surprised  that  Hugh  should  stop 
abruptly,  forcing  the  stream  of  foot-passengers  to  divide 
into  two  currents  about  us. 

"The   impertinent   bounder!    Offer  employment— to 
you — my— my  wife!" 
I  walked  on  with  dignity. 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  that,  Hugh.  It's  a  word  only  to 
be  used  in  its  exact  signification."  He  began  to  apologize, 
but  I  interrupted.  "I'm  not  only  not  your  wife,  but  as 
yet  I  haven't  even  promised  to  marry  you.  We  must  keep 
that  fact  unmistakably  clear  before  us.  It  will  prevent 
possible  complications  in  the  end." 
He  spoke  humbly: 
"What  sort  of  complications?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  can  see  they  might  arise.  And 
as  for  the  matter  of  employment,  I  mtist  have  it  for  a  lot 
of  reasons." 

I7» 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"  I  don't  see  that.    Give  me  two  or  three  months,  AHx !" 

"But  it's  precisely  during  those  two  or  three  months, 
Hugh,  that  I  should  be  left  high  and  dry.  Unless  I  have 
something  to  do  I  have  no  motive  for  staying  here  in 
New  York." 

"What  about  me?" 

"I  can't  stay  jvist  to  see  you.  That's  the  difierence 
between  a  woman  and  a  man.  The  situation  is  awkward 
enough  as  it  is;  but  if  I  were  to  go  on  living  here  for  two  (»' 
three  months,  merely  for  the  sake  of  having  a  few  hours 
every  day  with  you — " 

Before  we  reached  the  Park  he  saw  the  justice  of  my  ar- 
gument. Remembering  what  Larry  Strangways  had  once 
said  as  to  Hugh's  belief  that  he  was  stooping  to  pick  his 
diamond  out  of  the  mire,  I  reasoned  that  since  he  was  mar- 
rying a  working-girl  it  would  best  preserve  the  decencies  if 
the  working-girl  were  working.  For  this  procedure  Hugh 
himself  was  able  to  establish  precedent,  since  we  were  in 
sight  of  the  very  hotel  where  Libby  Jaynes  had  rubbed 
men's  nails  up  to  within  an  hour  or  two  of  her  marriage  to 
Tracy  Allen.  He  pointed  it  out  as  if  it  was  an  historic 
monument,  and  in  the  same  spirit  I  gazed  at  it. 

That  matter  settled,  I  attacked  another  as  we  advanced 
farther  into  the  Park. 

"And  Mr.  Strangways  is  not  a  bounder,  Hugh,  darling. 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  him  that." 

His  response  was  sufficiently  good-natured,  but  it  ex- 
pressed that  Brokenshire  disdain  for  everjrthing  that 
didn't  have  money  which  specially  enraged  me. 

"Well,  I  won't,"  he  conceded.  "I  don't  care  a  hang 
what  he  is." 

"I  do,"  I  declared,  with  some  tartness.    "I  care  that 
he's  a  gentleman  and  that  he's  treated  as  one." 
173 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"Oh,  every  one's  a  gentleman." 

New  YOTk  who  could  buy  and  sell  Mr.  Strangways  a 
thousand  tunes,  perhaps  a  miUion  times  ov^TSTwho 
wouldn't  be  worthy  to  valet  him  " 

ticSgr"  ^^"'""^  ""'  ""^  "*^  *^*^  "^  "*  '»''**- 
W;io'SyS'mJ^r  ""'  """  "■«'•*  "^  ^  New  York. 

into  a  corner,  I  beat  a  shuffling  retreat. 
" ^  1°:'* .™®^  ^y °°^  '"  particular.    I'm speaWne in 

ff^  V^J^^-^ed  an  empty  benS^^th" 
aftonoon  was  hot,  H  suggested  that  we  sit  down. 

o^i^^^"^'!^'^'  ''^^'  ''^  ''«  ^«J  the 
question  I  had  been  expecting. 

"Who  was  the  person  who  ofifered  you  the~the-" 
I  saw  how  he  hated  the  word-"the  employment?" 

^h;^A^^  ^^^^  *°  ^^^  °°  knowledge  of  matte.^ 
which  didn't  concern  me.  -"i.«rs 

"It's  a  Mr  Grainger,"  I  said,  as  casually  as  I  could. 
As  he  sat  close  to  me  I  could  feel  him  start 

Not  Stacy  Grainger?" 
I  maintained  my  tone  of  indifference 
"I  Onnk  that  is  his  name.    Do  you  know  him?    He 
seems  to  be  some  one  of  importance  " 
"Oh,  he  is." 

JJ^  Strangways  has  gone  to  him  as  secretary  and,  I 
Stt^,  taowmg  th.  .  .  was  out  of  a  sit-^ticThe  mi^t 
nave  mentioned  me." 
"For  what?" 

"As  I  und«^tand  it,  it's  librarian.    It  seems  that  this 
Mr.  Gramger  has  quite  a  collection—" 
174 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


time?vSt;<Jto£'.«  "^  he  ranged  sflent  for  so„,e 
auLt-^L^W  ^^"^  objections,  but  he  only  said 

1     He?n^:^^^  ""^"^'^  •--  -«=^  *°  •'^  w^* 

nol^'c:;'  '"'''^  ""*•"  '  ^^«^  ^  ^.  and  Hugh  said 

„  "l!!!f,"° °'°^'  l^t  r  ««Jd  see  that  it  was  because  he 
was  wresthng  w,th  a  subject  of  which  he  coullS^jJ 

A  half-hour  later,  as  we  were  on  our  way  homeward  he 
exda^ed  sudd^Jy.  and  apropos  of  nothing  a™ 
shoo^' W'  ''^'^^^^  l°ve  anybody  else  I'd-I'd 

His  innocent   boyish,  inexperienced  face  wore  such  a 

Stit'^"^*^*'^"^'^^-    I  laughed  to  concSlhe 
tact  that  I  was  near  to  crying. 

"Oh  no,  you  wouldn't,  Hugh.     Besides  v™,  ^^^'* 
any  likelihood  of  my  doing  itT  '  ^^  '^°"  *  "^ 

;;rm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  he  grumbled. 
Well,  I  am,  Hugh,  dear."    I  laughed  aeain     "T-™ 
no  mtention  of  loving  any  one  else-tSl  I  Wtled  mv 
account  with  your  father."  ^^ 


I 


,  It 


CHAPTER  XII 

jy^EARLY  a  week  later,  in  the  r-iddle  of  a  hot  afternoon 
th\jT't^  ^  ^«  chopping  to  wait  for  S^t 
the  hotel.    Though  it  was  a  half-hour  before  I  e^^t^ 

the  r«»ption-room.   It  was  not  only  cool  and  restftJ  thll 

I  took  the  place  to  be  empty.  Having  gone  to  a  n^r  for 
^ent  to  straighten  my  hat  and  L'ooth  the^^ 
teadnk  of  my  hiur,  so  that  I  shouldn't  look  dishS 

I^^  JIT'^'  '  '^'^  "'y^'^  «*°  ^  ann-chain 
«„i  T^!f^J^^^  ""^  ^"•'"•^^  ^^  anything  but  graceful 
^dttatlsighed.    Isighedmo^thanonceLdsc^S^t' 
M^LJ  ^,^«Pf^.  ^d  as  usual  when  depres^  i 
felt  small  and  desolate.    It  would  have  been  a  r^/ 

S:id2  \'^t'  °^  '^'^^  ^  was  e^g  Hu^^^  *J 
could  only  toss  about  in  my  big  chair  and  rive  uttP«r,~  f 
my  pent-up  heart  a  Uttle  t^  ej^losive^  ^     ^^*  ** 

"was  five  or  six  days  since  Larry  Strangways's  call  ar,H 
no  real  development  of  my  bh^ey  wS^ifs  gS^'  He 

^s  ^'H^hiid^  ir"?i  ^^  \s 

ri^*' "  ^^-^..^ca^yir- 
n  wasn  t  that  I  was  eager  to  be  Stacy  Grainger's  librarian  • 
ilZ'^l  ^^^  ""*^  something  to  hap^n,  Z^ 
that  would  :ustrfy  my  staying  in  New  York  Xugust  h^ 
176 


i 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

sS  ^^  "^'\^.  ~^«  «  ^*  September 


I  saw  the 
was  no  new 

nJ^r  hVJ!h°^*^.°^  *'^*'  <Jid  I  see  any  new  life  for 

in^     Rotr         J  f  ^       ™^y  P«°P'«  have  found  sicken 

summons  by  evenr  deUv^L^f  iTT'       -^^  «Pecting  a 

evenine  he  haH  inf™^^        ^  "^y  eyes,    un  the  previous 

I  was^iTT   iJ  ^^    themselves  were  so  lustrous. 

i^  about  to  be  frightened  when  a  man  arose  and 
restiessly  moved  toward  vie  chimneyDiecTnot^^ 
^was  anything  the™  he  desired  SSut tS^^ 
couldn  t  contmue  to  sit  still.    He  was  a  siritw  « 
taU.  spare.  U^^boned  and  powerful-^^Th^f^LSS^ 
177 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

type  whidj  for  want  of  a  better  word  I  can  only  «-«k  of 

amher  hungry  set  of  human  quaHties  and  pS^^^*^ 

w  Jjk!!?.  T  *''°  "^^'^^  I^n''  i«ste^  of  ^e  and  I 
was^t  to  Wthe,xx»„whenapagecamein 
o^.  sir,    said  the  honest-faced  little  hov  ^jfi. 

m^^Zv'  '^-'-^'y*^  -'t  in.  so  I  guess  £ 

Startled,  I  rose  to  my  feet. 

"But  I'm  number  four-twenty-thice  " 

lie  boy  turned  toward  me  nonchalantly 
you."       *  ^"^  ^  ''^  ^*^'    That  gentleman  wants 

With  this  int«xluction  he  dashed  away,  and  I  was  once 
Zl^°^  of  the  luminous  eyes  ben^'up^,^*"  n" 

g^veandhar^andln^SIallaTSc:""  ^  "^  ^^ 
That  s  my  name." 

"Mine's  Grainger." 

m«r?oS™*'''  ""'  '  '"^  ^'  ^-  I  -^^  ^- 
"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

th,^v^  ^*^  ^^°^^  near  me  and  in  a  good  light  I  saw 
^lus  skin  was  t^ed,  as  if  he  lived  on^^s^^'o^^i^: 

Had^ust  JT'SJf*^  '"^  '^  S^'-S-^y^  that 
ne  nad  just  come  from  a  summer's  yachting.    His  gaze 


AM 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

'■You  probably  know  my  errand." 
Mr.  Strangwa}rs — " 

"y^^' I  told  him  to  sound  you." 
,.5"*  I'™  afraid  I  wouldn't  do  " 

why  do  you  think  so?" 
■'Because  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  work  " 

have^oT^rSfoSTtin^^V'^*     ^SVou'd 
^^twoorth^J— T,.,^----- 

mthe^t^o^e'''?j;;.7^^*°r    Vou'd  find  that 
It's  small.    Se's^^t  1T  ^'*  *'i"  '^^  "^  *>>«  P'^- 

jtup.  Miss'S:iriThryrS"^r°srT 

«  "b  Jfw™  *"=  °''^'--  °^  -'^^  ahnost  took 
;;0h,  but  I  shouldn't  be  worth  that." 
It  s  the  salary,"  he  said,  briefly,  as  he  rose     "  v™ 
arrange  with  my  secretarv  <^tJZLr      ^  ^°"  '^ 

He  turned. 

teaathalfpast^o^"     "^^    ^  ^«^  will  bring  you 
179 


Bi  .ij' 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

I  could  hwidly  beUeve  my  ears.  I  had  never  heard  of 
such  sohctude....  "But  I  shouldn't  need  teal"  I  b^n  to 
assure  him.  "<«»u  m 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  looking  at  me  searchingly. 

You  11  have  callers—" 
"Ohno.Isba'n't." 

•■-'J?I!'"  m?  **"*"•"  •**  "^*«*'  ■«  ^  I  '>«l°'t  spoken, 
and  there'll  be  tea  every  day  at  four-thirty" 
He  was  gone  before  I  could  protest  further,  or  ask  any 
more  questions.  ' 

r.^'T'!'^^^^^'^-  "*"*  ^  ^^  t^"  «>**»«•  before  him. 

S^h^feU^iSri^ar  *^"'  *"  ^"^^  "^^^  ""'  ''-'' 
"But  why?"  I  demanded. 

mid'eSi"^"""*'   ""*•  "''"•*'^'  ^^'^''^  •- 

ldnH°^°°'  ^  ^'*' ""^''-  ^'-  St^gways  is  not  that 
kmd  of  man     Mr.  Grainger  has  some  other  reason  for 

wantmg  me  there,  but  I  can't  think  what  it  is" 
^en  I  shouldn't  go  till  I  knew."  Hugh  counseled. 

m2^*i^'^"  ^''«>*t'^'««tweek.  Larry  Strangways 
made  the  arrangements,  and,  after  a  fortnight  under  1^ 
Davis  s  mstructions,  I  found  myself  alone 

It  was  not  so  trying  as  I  feared,  though  it  was  monoto- 
nous. It  was  monotonous  because  there  was  so  Uttle  to  do 
I  was  thweeadi  morning  at  half  past  nine.  Fromoneto 
Zll  j^^^°'^'^-  At  six  I  came  away.  On 
Saturdays  I  had  the  afternoon.  It  was  a  Uttle  like  being  a 
Pawner,  but  a  prisoner  in  a  palace,  a  prisoner  who  ia^ 

i8o 


ll 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


of  the  bin^nrSrit'rr '  "J,"^  '"'-  -d  g«ens 
Oriental  rugs  ^t^^iM?  ^''"°''  "^^^^  °f  th« 
cupboards,  ^e  of  t^  "''f  "^  *''^^  "'"^  were 
PonfoHos;.Ssri:SL^a^?},;t-  «^ed  with 

-nte.i.JL^^LSr'*p;,rh^f  rki°^-  °"  ''^^ 

-t'^^b-^r:;«e^-  ^^-^^^  ^^-- 

student  of  S^e^-<2r^^^  ^  ~"«^i°":  °nce  a  lady 

inNew  York  would  ent^a^dTtL^Xr/  ^^t' 
amved.    To  while  awav  ti,»  +;~  t  ^^""y-  and  go  as  he 

knitting  and  7^i71tT^'}^^j---^---dm 

«  regularly  as  toe  Sadfof  1^,^^  ^°"  "^'^ '^^y- 
solemnly  had  my  tea  ^„„  '^'^     ^^  ^°™d,  I 

bread  idTutZt"the  ortw7^°f*^^- -i*«^e and 
by  Mrs   Dalv   tJ,?  *l^«  Orthodox  style,  and  was  brought 

^e  stayed,  a  goTd:,",?  Sstt^^Z'- !?'!! 
n«ves  and  swollen  "  varikiss"  vSs  ^"^""= 

I  am  bound  to  admit  that  the  t po  ~  ~_ 

«umt  "wt  tne  tea  ceremony  oppressed 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

generowty  teemed  overdone.  It  wan  not  in  the  necessities 
of  the  ewe;  it  was.  above  all,  not  Americaa^^^J* 

cauitnedtoscrewupmycouraeetoaskhimfow^..  <r 
thishoyitality.  b..t  lUdn-t  rS^fpSTt  ft-n^t 
f^Tv  dJft'  °f  Wm  «  I  was  overawS!^  He  waT,^:! 
Met.  like  Howard  Brokenshire;  but  any  one  cxmld  see  that 

Iw«T"*°1^'^.?^''*P'*^P'=^yP«<>««Pi^ 
berl^^r/^^fT°""«'''^^'**°«»>i«Nov«n. 

t^lf         ..""^  °^  *'•''  °^"8  °f  *•>«  °"t«  door  at. 

f^hZ.'*.^**""-  A*fi«t<«e<=a«eintoav,rb^e 
from  which  there  was  no  entrance,  till  on  my  side  I  tou<^ 
the  spnng  of  a  closed  wrought-i«,n  grille.  I  bS^Zne 
forward  to  see  who  was  there  and,  if  ^eLanr.Tve^e 
^W^ssion.  wh«i  to  my  astonisST'sfrM^ 

£S?n  W  "^  ^  ''"''  *°  *^«  "Id  wind,  but  the 

hght  in  her  eyes  was  that  of  excitement. 

in  '  W  r  ^°"  '"^  ^^•"  ^  ''i^^P^.  as  she  fluttered 
m.    and  I  ve  come  to  see  you  "  ""-icrea 

co^d'' w/ *f  ^P™J^'°'="  °^  *"^  "t^P '^^^  «««h  that  I 
could  hardUy  welcome  her.    That  feeling  of  protection 

whidUhadonce  before  on  her  behalf  carne'back^^^ 

Iw.!^  r*'^^'^'^^^"^*^  was  seated  and' 

Iwaspoimngheroutacupoftea.    For  the  tot  timTsS 
U^  portion  I  was  glad  the  c««„ony  had^  ^ 

Jhe  answered,  while  glancing  into  the  shadows  about 
"Mild«d  told  me.    Hugh  wrote  it  to  her.    He  does 

X03 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


I  could  do"  '"^**-*°«»'fth«e  was  anything 

«J  expect  that  his  name  would  be  a  IfPw  t«  ««„  •  ""i 

any  bank  at  wt,;,-),  j,^     -T.  ^  *°  °P*"  '^''^  door  of 

And  how  IS  he  off  for  money?" 

3  at  TJ  ^  °^  •"'  '='"'«•  ^d  that  he  took  his 

meals  at  the  more  mexpensive  places.  In  taxis  ^  hf 
was  careful,  and  in  tickets  for  the  thSer  t1^  \^ 
signs  by  which  I  judged  ^'^^^^-    These  were  the 


'3 


183 


!'■  ..  « 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

jt,',',°"*  it  would  be  Mr.  Brokenshire's  moaey,  wouldn't 

"  It  would  be  money  Mr.  Brokenshire  gives  me  " 

"In  that  case  I  don't  think  Hugh  oould  accept'it.  You 
see.  he  s  trying  to  make  himself  independent  of  his  father 
so  as  to  do  what  his  father  doesn't  like." 

"But  he  can't  starve." 

"He  must  either  starve,  or  earn  a  Hving,  or  go  back  to 
nis  father  and — give  up. " 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  won't  many  him  unless  he 
har  money  of  his  own  ?" 

"  It  means  what  I've  said  more  than  once  before— that  I 
can  t  marry  him  if  he  has  no  money  of  his  own.  unless  his 
lamily  come  and  ask  me  to  do  it." 
There  was  a  little  furrow  between  her  brows 
;  Oh,  well,  they  won't  do  that.  I  would."  die  hastened 
to  add.  because-"  she  smiled,  like  an  angel-"  because  I 
believe  m  love;  but  they  wouldn't." 

left  L*e '^  ^^'  ^°^^  '"°^^"  ^  ^^ed,  "if  she  was 
"She  might;  and.  of  course,  there's  Mildred.  She'd  do 
anything  for  Hugh,  though  she  thinks  ...  but  neither 
Jack  nor  Paulme  would  give  in;  and  as  for  Mr.  Broken- 
shire—I  believe  it  would  break  his  heart." 

"Why  should  he  feel  toward  me  like  that?"  I  demanded 
bitterly.  How  am  I  inferior  to  Pauline  Gray,  except  that 
I  have  no  money?"  ^ 

"Well  I  suppose  in  a  way  that's  it.  It's  what  Mr 
Brokenshu^  calls  the  soUdarity  of  aristocracies.  They 
have  to  hold  together."  ^ 

"But  aristocracy  and  money  aren't  one." 
^  As  she  rose  she  smiled  again,  distantly  and  dreamily 
It  you  were  an  American,  dear  Miss  Adare,  you'd  know  " 
X84 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

thfS!!  *^T.'^*^  ^°°^'^^  "-^  ^°°^  deliberately  about 
the  room.  It  was  not  the  hasty  inspection  I  should  have 
expected ;  ,t  was  tranquil,  and  I  could  even  say  that  it  was 
thorough  She  made  no  mention  of  Mr.  Gi^iger,  buU 
couldn't  help  thinkiBg  he  was  in  her  mind. 

At  the  door  to  which  I  accompanied  her,  however  her 
manner  changed.  Befot.  trusting  herself  to  the  f^p'a^ 
of  walK  rumung  from  the  entrance  to  the  wrought-iron 
gatesheglancedupanddownthestreet.  ItwasSby 
this  tune,  and  the  lamps  were  lit,  but  not  till  the  pavement 
w.-«  tolerably  clear  did  she  venture  out.    Even  11^™ 

h«  natural  direction;   but  rapidly  and,  as  I  imaginS^ 
furtively,  she  walked  the  other  way.  ""aginea, 

I  mentioned  to  no  one  that  she  had  come  to  see  me.  Her 
tand  thought  of  Hugh  I  was  sorry  to  keep  to  myself;  but  I 
k^ofnopurpos^tobeservedindivulgingit.  WUhmy 
nm  to  guide  me  it  was  not  difficult  to  be  sure  that  in 
this  case  right  lay  in  silence. 

of  tilT  '^'^T^'''  ^  ^°*  ^"^'^'^  <^°'°e^  ^^  ^  ^^  point 
of  view.    As  I  was  gomg  back  to  my  lunch  at  the  hotel, 

M«_  Renter  eaUed  to  me  from  her  motor  and  made  me 

set  m     The  distance  I  had  to  cover  being  sUght,  she  drove 

meup  to  Central  Park  and  back  again  to  have  tiie  timT  to 

n^^lu^T^'  •"*.''  "^-  H^'^  eoing  round  to  all  the 
offices  that  practically  turned  him  out  si:t  or  eight  weeks 
ago  and  beggmg  them  to  find  a  place  for  him.  Two  or 
three  of  papa's  old  friends  have  written  to  ask  what  they 

uZ7l:t!:^'  *^  ^*  -  ^  ^--  «  they'd  show 

"Of  course,  if  his  father  makes  himself  his  enemy-" 
i8s  ^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"He  only  makes  himself  his  enemy  in  order  to  be  his 
fnend.  dear  Miss  Adare.  He's  your  friend,  too.^^  fa 
a  you  only  saw  it."  ^^^    ' 

''I'm  afraid  I  don't,"  I  said,  dryly. 
"Oh,  you  will  some  day,  and  do  him  justice.    He's  the 
k,nd«t  man  when  you  let  him  have  his  olnw*y." 
^  Which  would  be  to  separate  Hugh  and  me." 

h«  Jr  Tv  ^u^  ^  °''^  *'^*:  ^"-^  I  '"'^  he'd  do  the 
handsome  thing  by  you,  as  weU  as  by  him  " 

;;So  long  as  we  do  the  handsome  thing  by  each  other-" 

.«w'^°".'^'^''''^*l^*  leads  to.    Hugh '11 

°^^'*'."^P°^*'°°*° '"any  you.  dear  Miss  Adaie.'' 
^  He  will  when  your  father  comes  round  " 

forwa^TT.'"''  '^'^-    ^°"  ^°''  y°^'^  not  looking 
forward  to  that,  not  any  more  than  I  am"  ^^ 

wiTaf^^^rgh^"'"^  ""*  ^*  "^^ '^'^' ^ -^''' -  ^ '* 

Laliy  CiSet  S^  """'^  ^^^  has  made  me  write  to 
I  looked  up  at  her  from  the  pavement 
"What  for?" 

nJ7v^  ^V°  °™^  ""^  ^"^  ^°d  a  month  or  two  in 
New  York     She  says  she  will  if  she  can.    She's  a  go<S 

onl^ih-r^'w^tr  "^.'-^-^tokeepyo^S 
onuugh-  WelLalllcansayisthatCissiewillgiveyoua 
run  for  your  money.  Of  course,  it's  nothing  to  me  I 
only  thought  I'd  teU  you."  "™g  k>  me.    x 

This  too.  I  kept  from  Hugh;  but  I  seized  an  early  op- 
^ty  to  pamt  the  portrait  of  the  imaginaiy  cha^ 
prl  he  could  have  for  a  wife,  with  plenty  of  monTtf 
^pport  himself  and  her.  if  he  would  ojy  i^Hf uj 

T^JTZT"^"^  ^"^^  °"*  "^^'^^  *"«  *he  theate^ 

I  was  obhged  from  fame  to  time  to  let  him  take  me  so 

i86 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

*^«!f  ■°^!'**  ^"""^  *  P******  ^"^  •^"8  together-^d  we 
stroUed  in  the  shadows  of  the  narrow  cross-streets 

"LitUe  Alix,"  he  dedared.  ferventiy,  "I  could  no  more 
pve  you  up  than  I  could  give  up  my  breath  or  my  blood 
You  re  part  of  me.    You're  the  most  vital  part  of  me     If 
you  were  to  fail  me  I  should  die.    If  I  were  to  fail  you— 
But  thats  not  worth  thinking  of.    Look  here'"    He 
paus^  m  a  dark  spot  beside  a  great  silent  warehouse. 
U>ok  here     I  m  having  a  pretty  tough  time.    Til  con- 
less  it.    I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  but  I  wiU.    When  I  go 
to  see  certain  people  now-men  I've  met  dozens  of  times 
at  my  father's  table-what  do  you  think  happens?    Thev 
have  me  shown  to  the  door,  and  not  too  politely.    These 
are  the  chaps  who  two  months  ago  were  squinning  for  joy 
at  the  thought  of  getting  me.    What  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
How  do  you  suppose  it  makes  me  feel  ?"    I  was  about  to 
bre^  m  with  some  indignant  response  when  he  continued 
plaadly :    '  Well,  it  aU  turns  to  music  the  minute  I  think  of 
you.    It's  as  if  I'd  drunk  some  glowing  cordial.    I'm 
tacked  out,  let  us  say-and  it's  not  too  much  to  say-and 
I  m  ready  to  curse  for  all  I'm  worth,  but  I  think  of  you 
I  remember  I'm  doing  it  for  you  and  bearing  it  for  you  so 
that  one  day  I  may  strike  the  right  thing  and  we  may  be 
togetha:  and  happy  forever  afterward,  and  I  swear  to  you 
It  s  as  if  angels  were  singing  in  the  sky." 

I  had  to  let  him  kiss  me  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  street 
as  If  we  were  a  footman  and  a  housemaid.  I  had  to  let  him' 
tass  away  my  tears  and  soothe  me  and  console  me.  I  told 
him  I  wasn't  worthy  of  such  love,  and  that,  if  he  would 
consider  the  fitness  of  things,  he  would  go  away  and  leave 
me,  but  he  only  kissed  me  the  more. 

Again  I  was  having  my  tea.    It  had  been  a  lifeless  day 
and  I  was  wondering  how  long  I  could  endure  ttie  lifeless^ 
187 


II 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

ness.  Not  a  soul  had  come  near  the  place  ance  morn- 
ing, and  my  only  approach  to  human  intercourse  had 
been  in  discussing  Mrs.  Daly's  "varikiss"  veins.  Even  that 
mterlude  was  over,  for  the  lady  would  not  return  for  the 
tea  things  till  after  my  departure.  I  was  so  lonely--! 
felt  the  uselessness  of  what  I  was  doing  so  acutely— that 
in  spite  of  the  easy  work  and  generous  pay  I  was  thinking 
of  sending  my  resignation  in  to  Mr.  Grainger  and  looking 
for  something  else. 

The  outer  door  opened  swiftly  and  silently,  and  I  knew 
some  one  was  inside.  I  knew,  too,  before  rising  from  my 
place,  that  it  was  Mrs.  Brokenshire.  Subconsciously  I  had 
been  expecting  her,  though  I  couldn't  have  said  why.  Her 
lovely  face  was  all  asparkle. 

"I've  come  to  see  you  again,"  she  whispered,  as  I  let 
her  in.    "I  hope  you're  alone." 

^  I  replied  that  I  was  and,  choosing  my  words  carefully, 
I  said  it  was  kind  of  her  to  keep  me  in  mind. 

"Oh  yes,  I  keep  you  in  mind,  and  I  keep  Eagh.  What 
I've  reaUy  come  for  is  to  b^  you  to  hand  him  the 
money  of  which  I  spoke  the  other  day." 

She  seated  herself,  but  not  before  glancing  about  the 
rocrm,  either  expectantly  or  fearfally.  As  I  poured  out 
her  .ja  I  repeated  what  I  had  said  aheady-on  the  subject 
of  the  money.  She  wasn't  Ustening,  however.  When  she 
made  repUes  they  were  not  to  the  point.  All  the  while 
she  sipped  her  tea  and  nibbled  her  cake  her  eyes  had  the 
shifting  alertness  of  a  watchful  little  bird's. 

"Oh,  but  what  does  it  all  matter  when  it's  a  question  of 
love?"  she  said,  somewhat  at  a  venture.    "Love  is  the 
only  thing,  don't  you  think?    It  must  make  its  oppotw 
tumties  as  it  can." 
"You  mean  that  love  can  be — unncrupuknis?" 
i88 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"Oh,  I  shouldn't  uae  that  word  " 
"w'*!*^'^?''"*''*"^''^-    If  s  the  act" 
••^islt?"'"'""'''*^    AU-sfairr 

^ey«  rested  on  naae.  not  Wdly.  but  with  a  certain 
"yfhy-yvs." 
"Yon  believe  that?" 

^e^kepthereyeeonnune.    Her  tone  was  that  of  a 

^Why-yes."    She  added,  perhaps  defianUy.  "Don't 

I  said,  decidedly: 
"No,  I  don't." 
JTh^^don^^.    You  can't  love.    Wis«ck- 

^tJ^2r,  ^.^•^'^'''°°«Pa"sebeforeshedropped 
tte  two  condtuling  words,  spacing  them  apart  asTto 
empWherdehberation.    "Lov^sks4ll." 
It  It  risks  all  it  may  lose  all." 

The  challenge  ^.  us  renewed. 

"Well?    Isn't  that  better  than— ?" 

"l.o^tSrma^:?r^  ^''"  '  '-^^  to  say, 
"Ah  but  what  is  right?    A  thing  can't  be  right  if- 
tf-  shesoughtf  raword-<'ifit'skillingyou" 

leaSLf W^'tfi,*^'™  r  ^  ^'^  ^°°S  the  corridor 
teadmg  from  the  house.    I  thought  Mr^.  Daly  had  for- 

^^^g  and  was  coming  back.    But'the  t^ 

M«  n    1^  ^"^  ^  *^"  2°°^  ""^^  ««^^  inspi«d 
Mrs.  Brofcenshire  made  no  attempt  to  play  a  parTor  to 
put  me  off  the  scent.    She  acted  as  if  I  Ld^S  ^t 
was  happening.    Her  teacup  «sting  in  her  Up^e^t 

189 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

with  eyes  aglow  and  lips  slightiy  apart  in  a  look  of  heavenly 
expectation.  I  could  hardly  believe  her  to  be  the  dazed 
stncken  Uttle  creature  I  had  seen  three  months  ago' 
As  the  footsteps  approached  she  munnured,  "He's  com- 
wg!"  or  "  Whc's  coming?"    I  couldn't  be  sure  which. 

Mr  Grainger  entered  like  a  man  who  is  on  his  own 
ground  and  knows  what  he  is  about  to  find.  There  was 
no  uncertainty  in  his  manner  and  no  apparent  sense  of 
secrecy.  His  head  was  high  and  his  walk  firm  as  he 
pushed  his  way  amid  tables  and  chairs  to  where  we  were 
sitting  in  the  glow  of  a  shaded  light. 

I  stood  up  as  he  approached,  but  I  had  time  to  appraise 
my  situation.  I  saw  all  its  little  mysteries  illumined  as  by 
a  flash.  I  saw  why  Stacy  Graing,  -  had  kept  track  of 
me;  I  saw  why,  in  spite  of  my  deficiencies,  he  had  taken 
me  on  as  his  librarian;  but  I  saw,  too,  that  the  Lord  had 
dehvered  J.  Howard  Brokenshire  into  my  hands,  as  Sisera 
mto  those  of  Jael,  the  wife  of  Heber  the  Kenite 


CHAPTER  Xin 

1 11^^^^^.°^  ^°^  °^  '"y  embarrassment  by  the  fact 
•»  that  Mr.  Grainger  took  cammand. 

Having  bowed  over  Mrs.  Brokenshire's  hand  with  an 
on^Ksement  he  made  no  attempt  to  conceal,  he  mur- 
mured the  words.  'Tm  deUghted  to  see  you  again." 
After  this  greeting,  which  might  have  been  commonplace 
and  was  not.  he  turned  to  me.  "Perhaps  Miss  Adare  will 
give  me  some  tea."  uoio  wm 

I  could  carry  out  this  request,  listen  to  their  scraps  of 
conversation,  and  think  my  own  thoughts  aU  at  the  same 
time. 

Thinking  my  own  thoughts  was  the  least  easy  of  the 
three,  for  the  reason  that  thought  stunned  me.  The  facts 
faodced  me  on  the  head  Since  before  my  engagement  as 
Mr.  aainger  s  hbranan  this  situation  had  been  planned! 
M^.  Brokenshire  had  chosen  me  for  my  part  in  it!  She 
,  ^rL^-  ^5««g«-  «>y  address,  which  she  could  have 
learned  &om  her  mother,  and  recommended  me  as  one 
with  whom  they  would  be  safe ! 

Their  talk  was  only  of  superficial  things;  but  it  was  not 

!  tl^"^,,^  T  ««°t'°°«-  That  was  in  the  way  they 
talM-h^ttngly.  falteringly,  with  glances  that  met  and 
shifted  and  feU,  or  that  rested  on  each  other  with  long 
mute  looks,  and  then  turned  away  hurriedly,  as  if  somt 
thing  m  the  spirit  reeled.  As  she  gave  him  bits  of  infonna. 
T91 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

same  was  tnipT^^^*""*"*^  thought.    The 

Notthatlbehevedittobeaguiltylove-flsv,^     -n,  . 
because  he  had  a  weakness-  „„TV^' '^^^earted  men 

young,  and  might  but  I^  J"e^^*  ?r  '  ^ 
at  aU-what  was  being  done^^I^^^*  not  p«^ve 

wasp^umably  tooinexpe^eZi  to'taial^r,?''^' ' 
e-nifIsuspectulwhat^nX°„Stw^°'^ 

bitt^itMts  S''  £,"°T  *f  •"  "''""^  *°  ^  '•*« 
too.  ..  a  ^ST^f  HS'B.rns;S:'^iT=  ^S  ^ 
approve  of  what  I  might  see  and  ^^uJI^^^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

wd«ned  on  not  to  speak  of  it.     Once  more  I  was 
made  to  feel  that,  though  I  imght  play  a  subordinate 

Z^^oZ'T'''^-  "^  '^  ^*«  -^  p«- 

It  was  obviously  a  minute  at  which  to  bring  my  maxim 
mto  operation.  I  had  to  do  what  was  Riiht-^  ^ 
capital  For  that  I  must  wait  for  inspiration,  and  present- 
jy  .1  got  It. 

™,S!S  ^'  ^  ^?u  '*  ^^  ^"^^^  ^  ^°* ''  fi«t  by  noting  in  a 
puzried  way  the  glances  which  both  my  .ompanioii  sent 
m  my  drectmn.  They  were  sidelong  glances,  singularly 
ahke,  whether  they  ^e  from  Stacy  Grainger's  melily 
brown  eyes  or  Mrs.  Brokenshire's  sweet,  misty  ones  They 
wwe  tinud  glances,  pleading,  uneasy.  They  asked  what 
WOTds  wouldn't  dare  to  ask,  and  what  I  was  too  dense  to 
underetand.  I  sat  sipping  my  tea,  mnning  hot  and  cold  as 
the  odiCTisness  of  my  position  struck  me  from  the  various 
pomtsofview;  but  I  made  no  attempt  to  move 

They  were  still  talking  of  people  of  whom  I  knew  noth- 
mg  but  taUong  brokenly,  futilely,  for  the  sake  of  hearing 
each  oUiers  voice,  and  yet  stifling  the  things  wwTit 
would  have  been  fatal  to  them  both  to  say,  when  Mr 
Urainger  got  up  and  brought  me  his  cup. 
"May  I  have  another?" 

I  looked  up  to  take  the  cup,  but  he  held  it  in  his  hands. 
He  held  It  m  his  hands  and  gazed  down  at  me.  He  eared 
down  at  me  with  an  expressioi  such  as  I  have  never  seen 
m  any  ^  but  a  dog's.  As  I  write  I  blush  to  remember 
that,  with  such  a  minghng  of  hints  and  entreaties  and  com- 
mands. I  didn't  know  what  he  was  trying  to  convey  to  me. 
I  took  the  cup.  poured  out  his  tea,  handed  the  cup  back  to 
him— and  sat.  ^^ 

But  after  he  had  reached  his  seat  the  truth  flashed  on 
193 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


I 


nw.     I  was  in  the  way;  I  was*  fro^.    I  had  done  nan  nf 
my  work  in  being  the  p«text  for  M«.  Brol^Z-rSi?- 

n^i^^/'f^'"'*^^'^"*'"^"-  Ineedn"go£; 
H^  ^u  ' '°"«-  ^"^  ^  ^  '^<^  «  the  end  of 
he  room  where  one  could  be  out  of  sight;  theT^l" 

'.he  comdor  leading  to  the  house.    IcLdea^^et^ 

I  hated  myself;  I  despised  myself ;    but  I  sat     IdranV 
.^.^natfltt^°^"-'=  ^^^  mycal.e:^L\*S 

Sil™,t  ^"^  '^- T  T^  «»"P»»io«s  grew  more  fitful. 
SJenoe  was  ea«er  for  them-silence  and  that  dumb  inte^ 

a  thing  to  be  got  rid  of.    I  was  so  in  my  ow^^U^t 
on  eatmg  and  drinking  stolidly-a„d  sat 

It  was  in  my  mind  that  fhis  was  my  chance  tr,  Jv. 
avenged  on  Howard  Brokenshire;  but  I  didnT^f  „^ 
veng^nce  that  way.  I  have  to  coWess  thatl  wL  ™! 
spmted  as  to  have  little  or  no  animosity  agai^  ^^ 
could  see  how  easy  it  was  for  him  to  tU  TmT^  an 
adventures.  I  wanted  to  convince  and  convert  hL  but 
not  to  n^e  hmi  suffer.  If  in  any  sense  I  cotJ^ te^ed 
the  guardian  of  his  interests  I  would  rather  have  1^^2 

I  nytea  as  li  I  reUshed  it,  it  was  partly  because  of  my  pro- 
tective instmct  toward  the  exquisite  creature  beta^^^ 
^o  might  not  know  how  to  protect  hersd^d^w 
because  I  couldn't  help  it.  Mr.  Grainger  co^^d^ 
I^K  "u,""'*^  ^^  ^^  I  «^t  t°  go  on  eating. 

Brokenshiie  felt  obliged  to  begin  to  talk  aJalTT^d  my 
194  ' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

best  not  to  listen,  but  fragment*  of  her  sentences  came  to 
nw. 

"My  mother  spent  a  few  weeks  with  us  in  August.  I— I 
don't  think  she  and— and  Mr.  Brokenshire  get  on  so  well.' 

Almost  for  the  first  time  he  was  interested  in  what  she 
■aid  rather  than  in  her. 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know^the  whole  thing."  A  long  pause 
ensued,  during  which  their  eyes  rested  on  each  other  in 
mute  questioning.    "She's  changed,  mamma  is." 

"Changed  in  what  way?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I — I  suppose  she  sees  that  she — 
she — miscalculated." 

It  was  his  ttun  to  ruminate  silently,  and  when  he  spoke 
at  last  it  was  as  it  throwing  up  to  the  surface  but  one  of  a 
deep  undercurrent  of  thoughts. 

"After  the  pounding  I  got  three  years  ago  she  didn't 
believe  I'd  come  back." 

She  accepted  this  without  comment.  Before  speaking 
again  she  sent  me  another  of  her  frightened,  pleading 
looks. 

"  She  always  liked  you  better  than  any  one  else." 

He  seconded  the  glance  in  my  direction  as  he  said,  with 
a  grim  smile: 

"Which  didn't  prevent  her  going  to  the  highest  bidder." 

She  colored  and  sighed. 

"You  wouldn't  be  so  hard  on  her  if  you  knew  what  al 
Sght  she  had  to  make  during  papa's  lifetime.  We  were 
Jways  in  debt.  Yi  a  knew  that,  didn't  you  ?  Poor  mam- 
ma used  to  say  she'd  save  me  from  that  if  she  never — " 

I  lost  the  rest  of  the  sentence  by  deliberately  rattling  the 
tea  things  in  pouring  myself  a  third  or  a  fourth  cup  of  tea. 
Nothing  but  disconnected  words  reached  me  after  tiiat, 
195 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


butrowj     am  nmm  ot  M-iJt—  ■ -- 1 

■he  was,  hkviiw  hMnl  hw  ■ZTT-t^^^T'       ■**  '*» 

2^'' *•  l-d  ipent  thw.  day,  at  .  «LMr«S; 
Swwrty^th  Street  to  that  <rf  M<-   p~u.  T/T^ 

"™«0M  were  bemg  mterehaajed  I  oooM  ■«••   t^ 

J««tl««o«tfdeaoe.«rt.i„t«rt^.,2Lteke2f 
tiM.  w«  Wag  drawn  ritently  I  oidd  ffi^  /!2S 
«e  without  hiring;  KKcfa'tneedtohear^rWltSS 

Itoew  that  neither  pointed  the  fflo«l  of  thTSSofS 

*«>l»wnthatit8tan!dthemiathel«e.  ^^""^^^ 

Because  that  subject,  too.  wu  exhaarted.  or  be«d« 

*^  had  «««  to  a  place  whew  th^^o^fao^ 
^«t -lent  again  They  looked  at^^.  "^ 
to««d  at  me;  neither  would  talce  the  n«n«^-J^ 

»o^.IwM«uretheyww»botha&aidofit     T™^.^^ 
«*;«*  and  yet  I  w«  a  «rfej^  w^S^^^ 
the  brink  of  danger  not  to  f^t  ^T^ 
•««hing  in  having  the«feg«a«l  ttef^      •  *^*'  *" 

wfri^ll***  "**"  **"•  B«*««hi«»  flew  to  <h«ll« 
1«^  behmd  this  protection.    She  ftatS*^^ 


I    SAW   A    HAN   AND  A  WOMAN  CONSUUSU  WITU 
FO>  EACH  UtBIS 


«; 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

my  side,  beginning  again  to  talk  of  Hugh.    Knowing  t>y 

ttis  time  that  her  interest  in  him  was  only  a  blind  for  her 
fcigrtened  essays  in  passion,  I  took  up  the  subject  but 
half-heartedly. 

"I've  the  money  here,"  she  confided  to  me,  "if  you'll 
only  take  charge  of  it." 

When  I  had  declined  to  do  this,  for  the  reasons  I  had 
already  given,  her  face  brightened. 

"Then^  we  can  talk  it  over  again."    She  rose  as  she 

spoke.    "I  can't  stay  any  longer  now— but  well  talk  it 

over  again.    Let  me  see!    This  is  Tuesday.    If  I  came— " 

"I'm  always  at  the  Hotel  Maiy  Chilton  after  six,"  I 

said,  significantly. 

I  smiled  inwardly  at  the  way  in  which  she  took  this 
mformation. 

"Oh,  111  come  before  that— and  I  sha'n't  keep  you— 
just  to  talk  about  Hugh-and  see  if  he  won  „  take  the 
money— perhaps  on— on  Thursday." 

As  nominally  she  had  come  to  see  me,  nominally  it  was 
my  place  to  accompany  her  to  the  door.  In  this  at  least  I 
got  my  cue,  walking  the  few  paces  with  her,  while  she  held 
my  hand.  I  gathered  that,  the  minutes  of  temptation 
bemg  past,  she  bore  me  some  gratitude  for  having  helped 
her  over  them.  At  any  rate,  she  pressed  my  fingers  and 
gave  me  wistful,  teary  smiles,  till  at  last  she  was  out  in  the 
lighted  street  and  I  had  dosed  the  door  behind  her. 

It  was  only  half  past  five,  and  I  had  stiU  thirty  minutes 
to  fill  m.  As  I  turned  back  into  the  room  I  found  Mr. 
Grainger  walking  aimlessly  up  and  down,  inspecting  a  bit 
of  lustrous  f^-ence  or  the  backs  of  a  row  of  books,  and 
making  me  feel  that  there  was  something  he  wished  to 
say.  His  movements  were  exactly  those  of  a  man  screwing 
up  his  courage  or  trying  to  find  words. 
197 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

The  simplest  thing  I  could  do  was  to  sit  down  at  my 
desk  and  make  a  feint  at  writing.  I  seemed  to  be  ignoring 
my  employer's  presence,  but  in  reality,  as  I  watched  him 
from  under  my  Hds,  I  was  getting  a  better  impression  of 
hmi  than  on  any  previous  occasion. 

There  was  nothing  Olympian  about  him  as  there  was 
about  Howard  Brokenshire.    He  was  too  young  to  be 
Olympian,  being  not  more  than  thirty-eight.    He  struck 
me,  indeed,  as  just  a  big,  sinewy  man  of  the  type  which 
fights  and  hunts  and  races  and  loves,  and  has  dumb,  un- 
comprehended  longings  which  none  of  these  pursuits  can 
satisfy.    In  this  he  was  EngUsh  more  than  American 
and  Scottish  more  than  English.    He  was  certainly  not 
the  American  business  man  as  seen  in  hotel  lobbies  and  on 
the  stage.    He  might  have  been  classed  as  the  American 
romantic— an  explorer,  a  missionary,  or  a  shooter  of  big 
game,  according  to  taste  and  income.    Larry  Strangways 
said  that  among  Americans  you  most  frequently  met  his 
hke  in  East  Africa,  Manchuria,  or  Braza.    That  he  was  in 
business  in  New  York  was  an  accident  of  tradition  and 
inheritance.    Just  as  an  Englishman  who  might  have  been 
a  soldier  or  a  solicitor  is  a  country  gentleman  because  his 
father  has  left  him  landed  estates,  so  Stacy  Grainger  had 
become  a  financier. 

As  a  financier,  I  understood  he  helped  to  furnish  the 
money  m  undertakings  in  which  other  men  did  the  work. 
In  this  respect  the  direction  his  interests  took  was  what 
might  have  been  expected  of  so  virile  a  character— steel 
iron,  gunpowder,  shells,  the  founding  of  cannon,  the  build- 
ing of  war-ships ;  the  forceful,  the  destructive.  I  gathered 
from  Mr.  Strangways  that  he  was  forever  making  journeys 
to  Washington,  to  Pittsburg,  to  Cape  Breton,  wherever 

money  couM  be  invested  in  mighty  conquering  things.    It 
198 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

was  these  projects  that  Howard  Brokenshire  had  attacked 
so  savagely  as  almost  to  bring  him  to  ruin,  though  he  had 
now  re-established  himself  as  strongly  as  before. 

Being  as  terrified  of  him  as  of  his  rival,  I  prayed  inward- 
ly that  he  would  go  away.  Once  or  twice  in  marching  up 
and  down  he  paused  before  my  desk,  and  the  pen  almost 
dropped  from  my  hand.  I  knew  he  was  jying  to  formu- 
late a  hint  that  whf  Mrs.  Brokenshire  came  again— 
But  even  on  my  part  the  thought  would  not  go  into  words. 
Words  made  it  gross,  and  it  was  what  he  must  have  dis- 
covered each  time  he  approached  me.  Each  time  he 
approached  me  I  fancied  that  his  poetic  eye  grew  apolo- 
getic, that  his  shoulders  sagged,  and  that  his  hard,  strong 
mouth  became  weak  before  syllables  that  would  not  pass 
the  lips.  Then  he  would  veer  away,  searching  doubtless 
some  easier  phrase,  some  more  delicate  suggestion,  only 
to  fail  again. 

It  was  a  relief  when,  after  a  last  attempt,  he  passed  into 
the  corridor  leading  to  the  house.  I  coidd  breathe,  I 
could  think;  I  could  look  back  over  the  last  half-hour  ^d 
examine  my  conduct.  I  was  not  satisfied  with  it,  because 
I  had  frustrated  love— even  that  kind  of  love;  and  yet  I 
asked  myself  how  I  could  have  acted  differently. 

In  substance  I  asked  the  same  of  Larry  Strangways 
when  he  came  to  dine  with  me  next  day.  Hugh  being  in 
Philadelphia  on  one  of  his  pathetic  cruises  after  work,  I 
had  invited  Mr.  Strangways  by  telephone,  begging  him  to 
come  on  the  ground  that,  having  got  me  into  this  trouble, 
he  must  advise  me  as  to  getting  out. 

"I  didn't  get  you  into  the  trouble,"  he  smiled  across 
the  table.     ' '  I  only  helped  to  get  you  the  job. " 

"  But  when  you  got  me  the  job,  as  you  call  it — " 

"I  knew  you  would  be  able  to  do  the  work." 
'4  199 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


"And  did  you  think  the  work  would  be— this?" 
I  couldn't  ten  anything  about  that.    I  simply  knew 

you  could  do  the  work-from  all  the  points  of  vieW/^ 
And  do  you  think  I've  done  it?" 

.Z^  ^°^  .r*'r  ^°^  '*■    ^°^  <^^'^  do  anything 
else.    I  won't  go  back  of  that."  ^^ 

n  my  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap  at  these  words  it  was 

wr°l-*^%*?'-    I* '^t'^y^d  that  quality  behind^ 
tone  to  which  I  had  been  responding,  and  of  which  I  hS 

i^f^t^IT^'^^^^^^^'^-    By  a  great  effort 
I  kept  my  words  on  the  casual,  friendly  pkne,  as^d- 

Your  confidence  is  flattering,  but  it  doesn't  help  me. 

What  I  want  to  know  is  this:  Assuming  that  they  love 

each  other,  should  I  allow  myself  to  be  uil .« the  S 
for  their  meetings  ?"  pretext 

"Does  it  do  you  any  hann?" 

"Does  it  do  them  any  good?" 

"  Couldn't  you  let  that  be  their  affair?" 

"How  can  I,  when  I'm  dragged  into  it?" 

af^c^^  °°^^  ^^^^^  ^^°  ''  *°  *^  ^*^*  °f  ^ 

^'_'Only!    You  can  use  that  word  of  a  situation— " 

^^  In  which  you  played  propriety." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  playing." 

"Xf ' '*  ^^;  it  was  playing  the  game-as  they  only 
play  It  who  aren't  quittere  but  real  sports." 

"But  I'm  not  a  sport.  I've  the  quitter  in  me.  I'm 
even  thmking  of  flinging  up  the  position— " 

"  And  leaving  them  to  theii- fate. " 

I  smiled. 

"Couldn't  I  let  that  be  their  affair?" 
l^^Ii^  *^^'  •"*  head  thrown  back,  his  white  teeth 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"You  think  you've  caught  me,  don't  you?  But  you've 
rrt  the  shoe  on  the  wrong  foot.  I  said  just  now  that  it 
might  be  their  affair  as  to  whether  or  not  it  did  them  any 
good  to  have  you  as  the  pretext  of  their  meetings;  but 
it's  surdy  your  affair  when  you  say  they  sha'n't.  Their 
meetings  will  be  one  thing  so  long  as  they  have  you; 
whereas  without  you — " 

"Then  you  think  they'll  keep  meeting  in  any  case?" 

"I've  nothing  to  say  about  that.  I  limit  myself  to  be- 
lieving that  in  any  situation  that  requires  skilful  >ian^i;THT 
your  first  name  is  resourcefulness." 

I  shifted  my  ground. 

"Oh,  but  when  it's  such  an  odious  situation!" 

"No  situation  is  odious  in  which  you're  a  participant, 
just  as  no  view  is  ugly  where  there's  a  garden  full  of 
flowers." 

He  went  on  with  his  dinner  as  complacently  as  if  he  had 
not  thrown  me  into  a  state  of  violent  inward  confusion. 
All  I  could  do  was  to  summon  Hugh's  image  from  the 
shades  of  memory  into  which  it  had  withdrawn,  and  beg 
it  to  koep  me  true  to  him.  The  thought  of  being  false  to 
the  nun  to  whom  I  had  actually  owned  my  love  outraged 
in  me  every  sentiment  akin  to  single-heartedness.  In  a 
kind  of  desperation  I  dragged  Hugh's  name  into  the  con- 
versation, and  yet  in  doing  so  I  merely  laid  myself  open 
to  another  shock. 
"You  can't  be  in  love  with  him!" 
The  words  were  the  same  as  Mrs.  Billing's;  the  emphasis 
was  similar. 

"I  am,"  I  declared,  blundy,  not  so  much  to  contradict 
the  speaker  as  to  fortify  mysdf . 
"  You  may  think  you  are — " 
"Well,  if  I  think  I  am,  isn't  it  the  same  thing  i 

30I 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Lord,  no!  not  with  love!  Love  is  the  most  dfioeptiw 
of  the  emotions-  to  people  who  haven't  had  much  eroert- 
ence  of  its  tricks."  '^ 

"Have  you?" 

He  met  this  frankly. 

"No;  noryou.  That's  why  you  can  so  easily  take  your- 
self m."  •' 

I  grew  cold  and  dignified. 
_   "  If  you  think  I'm  taking  myself  in  when  I  say  that  I'm 
m  love  with  Hugh  Brokenshire— " 

"That's  certainly  it." 

Though  I  knew  my  cheeks  were  flaming  a  dahlia  red  I 
forced  myself  to  look  him  in  the  eyes. 

"Then  I'm  afraid  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  convince 
you — " 

He  nodded. 
"Quite!" 

"So  that  we  can  only  let  the  subject  drop." 
He  looked  at  me  with  mock  gravity. 
"^  I  don't  see  that.    It's  an  interesting  topic." 
I'  Possibly;  but  as  it  doesn't  lead  us  any  furthe:^" 
^'*But  it  does.    It  leads  us  to  where  we  see  straighter." 
I' Yes,  but  if  I  don't  need  to  see  straighter  than  I  do?" 
''We  all  need  to  see  as  straight  as  we  can." 
"  I'm  seeing  as  straight  as  I  can  when  I  say— " 
"Oh,  but  not  as  straight  as  I  can!    I  can  see  that  a 
noble  character  doesn't  always  distinguish  clearly  between 
love  and  kindness,  or  between  kindness  and  loyalty   or 
between  loyalty  and  self-sacrifice,  and  that  the  higher  the 
heart,  the  more  likely  it  is  to  impose  on  itself.    No  one  is 
so  easily  deceived  as  to  love  and  loving  as  the  man  or  the 
woman  who's  truly  generous." 
"  If  I  was  truly  generous—" 
203 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"I  know  what  you  are,"  he  said,  shortly. 

"Then  if  you  know  what  I  am  you  must  know,  too, 
that  I  couldn't  do  other  than  care  for  a  man  who's  given 
up  so  much  for  my  sake. ' ' 

"  You  ocjldn't  do  other  than  admire  him.  You  couldn't 
do  other  than  be  grateful  to  him.  You  probably  couldn't 
do  other  than  want  to  stand  by  him  through  thick  and 
thin— " 

"Well,  then?" 

"  But  that's  not  love." 

"  If  it  isn't  love  it's  so  near  to  it — " 

"Exactly — ^which  is  what  I'm  sasring.  It's  so  near  it 
that  you  don't  know  the  difference,  and  won't  know 
the  difference  till — till  the  real  thing  aSords  you  the 
contrast." 

I  did  my  best  to  be  scornful. 

'Really!    You  speak  like  an  expert." 

"Yes;  an  expert  by  intuition." 

I  was  still  scornful. 

"Only  that?" 

"Only  that.  You  see,"  he  smiled,  "the  expert  by  ex- 
perience has  learnt  a  little;  but  the  expert  by  intuition 
knows  it  all." 

"Then,  when  I  need  information  on  the  subject,  I'll 
come  to  you." 

"And  I'll  promise  to  give  it  to  you  frankly." 

"Thanks,"  I  said,  sweetly.     "But  you'll  wait  till  l\ 
come,  won't  you?    And  in  the  mean  time,  you'll  not  say 
any  more  about  it." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  I'm  not  to  say  any  more  about  it 
ever — or  only  for  to-night?" 

I  knew,  suddenly,  what  the  question  meant  to  me.  I 
took  time  to  see  that  I  was  shutting  a  door  which  my 

20J 


THE  HIGH  HEART.     • 

heart  cried  out  to  have  left  open,    n..*  t ■     .■. 

«wetly  and  with  a  smile:  "«  ^  •awwd.  Itfll 

"Suppose  we  make  it  that  vmt  »»>»  „ 
about  it-^ever?"  "  "»*  y««  wot  M7  aajr  man 

I  won't  aay  any  more  about  il-&r  totJ^tt," 


CHAPTER  XIV 

QN  Thunday  Mr.  Grainger  came  to  the  ubrary  to 
^  S^  "ot;^thstanding  her  suggestion  M,^.  BrSL- 
stoedjdnot.  She  came,  however,  on  Friday  when  he  did 
not.    For  some  tame  after  that  he  came  daily 

Toward  me  his  manner  had  litUe  variation-  he  was 
^-t^onddist^t.  I  cannot  say  that  he  :^h^^ 
t^  °*' ^'*«^,^*<«pted  a  cup.  which  he  did  fi^ 

detent  comer  of  tie  loom  where  he  was  either  examimng 
tteofcaectsormaJangtheiracquaintance.  Hec^^^f 
half  pact  four  and  went  about  half  past  five,  always^ 

^g.r«m  the  house  and  retiring  by  the  sa^^:::;"  t 
^e  house  Itself,  as  I  understood  from  Mrs.  Daly,  he  di^ 

played  an  mterest  he  had  not  shown  for  years.     ^'       °^ 

JJli^T"^  '^  T'.T'  ^^  ^*°  *"°*^'*'  «°d  raisin-  the 
shades  and  pushm'  the  fumituns  about.  tiU  you'd  sw«r 
hewasgoin'tobemamed."  youa  swear 

jyr^^}  °^  ^^-  Py"«'  '^aering  if,  before  his  trip  to 

about  his  house,  appraismg  its  possibiUties  from  the  point 

of  view  of  a  new  mistress.  "«l»mt 

On  the  Friday  when  Mis.  Biotenshire  came  and  Mr 

&^  did  not  she  made  no  comment  on  ^Zi 

fiction  that  her  viat  was  on  my  account    Only  her  s^ 
aos 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

eyes  turned  with  a  quick  Ught  toward  the  door  leading  to 
the  house  at  every  wund  that  might  have  been  a  footstep 

men  she  talked  it  was  chiefly  about  Mr.  Brokenshire. 
It  s  teUmg  on  him— aU  this  trouble  about  Hugh." 

I  was  curious. 

"Telling  on  him  in  what  way?" 

'•Ifs  made  him  older-and  grayer- -and  the  trouble  > 
with  lus  eye  comes  oftener." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  an  opportunity. 
Then  why  doesn't  he  give  in  ? " 

•   'i^^'u-     Mr.  Brokenshire?    Why,  he  never  gave  in 
m  his  life. 

"But  if  he  suffers?" 

"He'd  rather  suffer  than  give  in.  He's  not  an  unkind 
^.•t^^Il^r  "^'  "  "*  •-  '^^  °-  ™y=  but  once 

"Every  one  has  to  be  tnwarted  some  time." 

"He'd  agree  to  that;  but  he'd  say  every  one  but  him. 
:niat  s  why.  when  he  first  met-met  me-and  my  mother 
at  that  time  meant  to  have  m^to  have  me  many  some 
one  else—    You  knew  that,  didn't  you  ?" 

I  reminded  her  that  she  had  told  me  so  among  the  rocks 
at  Newport. 

T  u  ^f  ^'u  ^"^^^^  ^  ^'^-  ^*'^''*  ^*«-  °n  ^y  n^nd. 
I  had  to  change  so-so  suddenly.  But  what  I  was  goinfr 
to  say  was  that  when  Mr.  Brokenshire  saw  that  man-^a 
meant  me  to  marry  some  one  else,  and  that  I— that  I' 
wanted  to,  there  was  nothing  he  didn't  do.  It  was  in  the 
?«f?7^"'^  ^^erything.  But  nothing  would  stop  him 
till  he  d  got  what  he  wanted. ' ' 

I  pumped  up  my  courage  to  say : 

"You  mean,  till  you  gave  it  to  him." 

She  bit  her  lip. 

2o6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Mamma  gave  it  to  him.    I  had  to  do  as  I  was  told 
You'd  say,  I  suppose,  that  I  needn't  have  done  it,  but  you 
don't  know."    She  hesitated  before  going  on.    "It— it 
was  money.    We— we  had  to  have  it.    Mamma  thought 
that  Mr.- the  man  I  was  to  have  married  first— would 
never  have  any  more.    It  was  all  sorts  of  things  on  the 
Stock  Exchang&-and  bulls  and  bears  and  things  like  that. 
There  was  a  whole  week  of  it— and  every  one  knew  it  was 
about  me.    I  nearly  died;  but  mamma  didn't  mind.    She 
enjoyed  it.    It's  the  sort  of  thing  she  would  enjoy.    She 
made  me  go  with  her  to  the  opera  every  night.    Some  ens 
always  asked  us  to  sit  in  their  box.    She  put  me  in  the 
front  where  the  audience  watched  me  through  their  opera- 
glasses  more  than  they  did  the  stage— and  I  was  a  kind  of 
spectacle.    There  was  one  night— they  were  singing  the 
Meistersinger'— when  I  felt  just  like  Eva,  put  up  as  a  priM 
for  whoever  could  win  me.    But  I  was  talking  of  Mr 
Brokenshire,  wasn't  I?    Do  you  think  his  eye  will  ever  be 
any  better?" 

She  asked  the  question  without  change  of  tone.  I  could 
only  reply  that  I  didn't  know. 

"The  doctor  says— that  is,  he's  told  me— that  in  a  way 
It's  mental.  It's  the  result  of  the  strain  he's  put  upon  his 
nerves  by  overwork  and  awful  tempers.  Of  course,  his 
responsibiUties  have  been  heavy,  though  of  late  years  he's 
been  able  to  shift  some  of  them  to  other  people's  shoulders. 
And  then,"  she  went  on,  in  her  sweet,  even  voice,  "what 
happened  about  me— coming  to  him  so  late  in  life— and— 
and  tearing  him  to  pieces  more  violently  than  if  he'd  been 
a  younger  man— young  men  get  over  things— that  made  it 
worse.     Don't  you  see  it  would?" 

I  said  I  could  understand  that  that  might  be  the  effect. 

"  Of  course,  if  I  could  reaUy?  -  a  v/if  e  to  him— " 
207 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


"Wdl.aui'tyour 

She  shuddered. 

"He  terrifies  me.    When  he't  there  I'm  not  a  woman 
«ny  more;  I'm  a  captive."  »•  woman 

"But  since  you've  married  him—" 

"I  didn't  marry  him;  hemarriedme.    Iwaaasmucha 
bj^n  a.  if  I  had  been  bought.    And  now  m^^^ 
that-that  she  might  have  got  a  better  price." 
I  thought  it  enough  to  say: 
"That  must  make  it  hard  for  her  " 
^gh  bubbled  up,  like  that  of"a  child  who  has  been 

"It  make,  it  hard  for  me."    She  eyed  me  with  a  lone 
oUique  regard.    "Don't  you  think  it's  awful  wheT^' 

ioJe"2tnr'''nr*'*^°-«^-^«^«" 

love  with  some  one  else?" 

I  could  only  dodge  that  question. 

"All  unhappiness  is  awful." 

"Ah  butthisi    An  elderly  manMn  love!    Madlv  in 
^^s  not  natural;  it'.frightfd;  andwhea^f^S 

ae  moved  away  from  me  and  began  to  iasnect  tht 

I^°J!^'".*^*'  h«i  been  there  before,  makingX^d^ 
the  book^elves  much  as  Mr.  Grainger  himL?^  tht 
habit^domg,  and  gazing  withoutco^t  on  tTp^ 
and  Italian  potteries.    It  was  easy  to  place  her  as  o^ 

tho^  women  who  Uve  surxtmded  by  LutifS  ^  2 
^ch  tiM^  pay  no  attention.    Mr.  Biokenshire^^y 

Itehanate  dwelling  was  to  her  just  a  house^w«5dW 
b^n  equaUy  ust  a  house  had  it  been  Jacob«n  S 
Oui^  or  m  the  fashion  of  the  Broth4  Adam.  andZ 
would  have  seen  Httle  or  no  difi^ce  in  pci^^d 
3o8 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


they  were  bwdtng.  and  titles.  Since  they  W«««{T^ 
Stacy  Grainger  she  could  look  at  thaTJfiTLTr^^.  ^ 
ey».  thinking  of  i^VS^'T'  Zl^u  l'  ""^"^ 
of  my  own  I  ^^^nZtj^^l^^^tZuTZ' 
ia«t„nu„gs  of  her  head  whenever  .he  thluthtE'e^l: 

«r  NSknotTTir?-    ^'^  «"l"i«t^»nd-and 
''mB.    i^ODoayknowsIcometo— toseeyou." 
Her  stammenng  emboldened  me  to  take  a  Uberty 
But  suppose  they  found  out  >" 

.ir  ""  ^°^*  «  a  child  as  she  glanced  up  at  me 

SS7or'^::L^^""^"«^"'-«'^'''-'^-^p^ 

••?«Tfi^    .!    ''*'°"*^"*^'«°'"Sontoadd: 
_^  But  I  don  t  want  to  get  into  any  trouble." 

door     '  °4rSd"3;    t^'  '"^"'  "°^"«  *°-«^  ^^ 
"OT.       Wtot  kmd  of  tiouble  were  you  thinking  of?" 

a.iTt^-sT.r^rL^^.-"^''*  ^  "-^  --^  '•- 

Oh.  I  see!    And  does  that  mean."  she  went  on,  her 
309 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

bosom  heaving,  "that  you're  a&aid  of  the  cataract  on  your 
own  account— or  on  mine?" 

I  paused  in  our  slow  drifting  toward  the  door.  She 
was  a  great  lady  in  the  land,  and  I  was  nobody.  I  had 
much  to  risk,  and  I  risked  it. 

"Should  I  offend  you,"  I  asked,  deferentially,  "if  I  said 
— on  yours?" 

For  :m  instant  she  became  as  haughty  as  so  sweet  a 
nature  knew  how  to  be,  but  the  prompting  passed. 
_     No;  you  don't  offend  me,"  she  said,  after  a  brief  pause. 

We  re  friends,  aren't  we,  in  spite  of—" 

As  she  hesitated  I  filled  in  the  phrase. 

"In  spite  of  the  difference  between  us." 

Because  she  was  pursuing  her  own  thoughts  she  aUowed 
that  to  pass. 

''People  have  gone  over  cataracts— and  still  Uved." 
Ah,  but  there's  more  to  existence  than  life,"  I  ex- 
clauned,  promptly. 

"There  was  a  friend  of  my  own,"  she  continued,  without 
mmediate  reference  to  my  observation;  "at  least  she  was 
a  fnend-I  .suppose  she  is  still-her  name  was  Madeline 
Onmshaw — " 

•'Yes,  Mrs.  Pyne;  but  she  wasn't  Mrs.  Brokenshire." 

No;   she  never  was  so  unhappy."    She  prised  her 

handkerchief  against  the  two  great  tears  that  roUed  down 

her  cheeks.    "She  did  love  Mr.  Grimshaw  at  one  time 

whereas  I — "  ' 

"But  you  say  he's  kind." 

"Oh  yes.  It  isn't  that.  He's  mote  than  land.  He'd 
pother  me  with  things  I'd  like  to  have.  It's-it's  when 
he  comes  near  me-when  he  touches  me-and-and  his 
eye!" 

I  knew  enough  of  physical  repulsion  to  be  able  to  change 


THE.HIGH   HEART 

my  Une  of  appeal.    "But  do  you  t.unt  youM  f,,.^n  any- 

thing  if  you  made  him  unhappy— nc  v  ? ' 

She  looked  at  me  wonderingly. 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  plead  for  him." 

I  had  ventured  so  far  that  I  could  go  a  little  farther 

*'I  don't  think  I'm  pleading  for  him  so  much  as  for  you  " 

Why  do  you  plead  for  me?    Do  you  think  I  should  be 
—sorry?" 

"If  you  did  what  I  imagine  you're  contemplating— 

She  surprised  me  by  admitting  my  implication. 

"  Even  if  I  did,  I  couldn't  be  sorrier  than  I  am. " 

■'Oh,  but  existence  is  more  than  joy  and  sorrow." 

"You  said  just  now  that  it  was  more  than  life.     I  sup- 
pose you  mean  that  it's  love." 

"  I  should  say  that  it's  more  than  love." 

"Why,  what  can  it  be?" 

I  smiled  apologetically. 

"Mightn't  it  be— right?" 

She  studied  me  with  an  air  of  angelic  sweetness. 

"Oh  no,  I  could  never  believe  that." 

And  she  went  more  resolutely  toward  the  door. 

Hugh  returned  in  good  spirits  from  Philadelphia  He 
had  been  well  received  His  name  had  secured  him  much 
the  same  welcome  as  that  accorded  him  on  his  first  excur- 
sions into  WaU  Street.  I  didn't  tell  him  I  feared  that  the 
results  would  be  similar,  for  I  saw  that  he  was  cheered 

To  verify  the  love  I  had  acknowledged  to  him  more  than 
once,  I  was  eager  to  look  at  him  again.  I  found  a  man  thin- 
ner and  older  and  shabbier  than  the  Hugh  who  first  at- 
tracted my  attention  by  being  kind  to  me.  I  could  have 
oorne  with  his  being  thinner  and  older;  but  that  he  should 
be  shabbier  wrung  my  heart. 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

fi-t  allows  „3^1t  p  J^S^  SL"£  !  'tf 

bound  n.e  to  ^^t^l' ^Zw^ l\^ ^ "^ V^^' 
because  I  needed  hin.;  but  not  S"l  iwtS^^ 
w^sm-elcould  never  b^kawayfx^nhL"^^"^^ 

forty-eigh  hou-^p^Ssj^"^.  Strangways  had  sat  only 

not  changed  the  E^o^'be  fac^  to'Z^'lV!:!:*  '  """^ 
on  exactly  the  same  snnf  1  ■        ^  ^^  *^°  "nen. 

conditions  «,  S^e  Tat    °*^'°"'  '°  °^  ^"'^^ther,  i^ 
Though  I  w^ntelLv      ^  *  .'"^  °^  faithlessness. 

themSthTw^aSJof  lL°  ""''  ".*°  "^  ''°«^  -^* 
for  thi.!  T  htZ    ,  '^'"S  so  with  neither:  and  vet 

for  LaiTv  S^l^     u   ^  Strangways.  and  I  suffered 

..?!'  ""t'^i"^  "I'lch-the  same  old  thing." 

Seen  anybody  in  particular?" 
I  weighed  my  answer  carefully 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

.'.'^*"  *<'  you  see  that  fellow?" 
Right  here." 

bounder?"  '    ^  "  *=^™«  out— "to  that 

He  laughed  nerrously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  go  as  far  as  that.    And  vet  if  TA-^    » 
■It  wotUdn't  be  too  far  "    t     ^J^^  "  ^  °^^— 

that  I  was  tuZTtS^-auJ/^^^  ^  *"  ^P'^'"- 

Hugh,dear.Ido^4tvE^  T    "^'^*  ^^^  ^. 
ways-"  *^*°y'*^«^<«  between  Mr.  Stiang- 

"And  me?" 

IdoseeadiffS:S[^th?rs^trS°"    ^^'^'^^^'^ 
more  a  man  of  the  world  tS-Sa^!?f  ^^  "^  ^^ '^'«=t« 

213 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Perceiving  my  embarrassment,  he  broke  in- 
Than  who?" 

I  took  my  courage  in  both  hands 

"Than  Mr  Rossiter,  for  ejtample,  or  your  brother  Mr 
Jack  Brokensh  re,  or  any  of  the  men  T  ^Zu  ^^^'  **'^- 
Vour  sister      Tf  T  1,,^   u  ^®*  ^^^'^  ^  ^^S  with 

ever  joiew    1  shouldn  t  have  supposed  that  any  of  them 
t>e.onged  to  the  real  great  world  at  all  " 
To  my  relief  he  took  this  good-naturedly 

Tf'.hr*'"  ^^^\'^^,  ^  ^al  inexperience,  little  Alix 
Itsbecauseyoudon'tknowhowtodistinguish" 

You  don  t  know  that  sort  of  good  thing-the  American 

STo°tT     ^"^'^^^ -"'--•    AndifyouleaTyX 

got  to  take  as  a  startmg-point  the  fact  that,  just  Jtt^ 

^e  thmgs  one  does  and  things  one  doesn't  d;,  so  tWrS 

people  one  knows  and  people  one  doesn't  k:^ow-^d  no 

one  can  tell  you  the  reason  why."  -"'ow-ana  no 

"But  if  one  asked  for  a  reason—" 

"It  would  queer  you  with  the  right  people.    They  don't 

^nt  a  reason.    If  people  do  want  a  i^ason-weU  leXe 

got  to  stay  out  of  it.     It  was  one  of  the  things  lK 

Jaynes  pxcked  up  as  if  ,*e  d  been  bom  to  it.    Ihe  kne^ 

iThrrwht^^^'^"^"-^^  andshecfttS 

"But,  Hugh,  darUng,  I  don't  know  how." 

He  was  all  forbearance. 

"You'll  leara,  sweet." '  As  for  the  moment  the  waitress  < 
was  absent,  he  put  out  his  hand  and  locked  bs Tng^ 
wxthn  „„„e.      'You've  got  it  in  you.    Once  you'^  C 
^''^ /""■«  Wk  Libby  Jaynes  into  a  cocki  h^" 

I  shook  my  head.  ^^ 

"I'm  not  sure  that  you're  right." 

314 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"I  know  I'm  right,  if  you  do  as  I  teU  you:  and  to  berin 

of  tit     ^  '•  ''^^"^  "^  "^y  °^^^  things  to  think 

ofthat  any  mere  status  of  my  own  became  of  no  i^ 

P^rtance     I  was  willing  that  Hugh  should  marry  me^ 

long  as  I  could  play  my  part  in  the  rest  of  the  drama  ^t^ 

m^rffiS?^^-    ""'  ^*  --  P-'-'3'  '^^^^  that  S 

When  Mrs.  Brokenshire  and  Mr.  Grainger  next  met 

fo„=^       1         f  ^"^  ^t  stammering,  shame- 

Sed  Bv  Jh!  T"^'^  "°i.  ^  '"°"^''  ^  ™Sht  be  out- 
tT.  nt  /,  ^  '™P'^  expedient  of  wandering  away  on 
the  plea  of  looking  at  this  or  that  decorative  obiectThev 
ob^ned  enough  solitude  to  serve  their  purpost  wS 
So1Si^"^-^^-'^'^-^--o^ontheT:i 

As  far  as  that  went  I  was  relieved.     I  was  not  respon- 
se for  what  they  did,  but  only  for  what  I  did  mysT  I 
v^  not  their  keeper;  I  didn't  want  to  be  a  spy  on  them 
men.  at  a  certain  minute,  as  they  returned  toward  mH 
saw  hun  pass  a  letter  to  her,  it  was  entirely  by  chancT    T 

ZZ^n^^^'^-  """^  ^'^  ^'^  "°  "-  m"  Jng  relik' 
m  wntang  to  hma,  it  was  not  so  with  him  in  wridng  to  he7 
and  that  commumcations  of  importance  might  have  to 
pa^  between  them.  It  w^  nothing  to  me.  ^I  wasl^nj 
^ot^ve  surpnsed  the  act  and  tried  to  dismiss  it  from  i^ 

It  was  repeated,  however,  the  next  time  they  came  and 
many  times  after  that.    Their  comings  settled  into  a  ^- 

2TS 


15 


215 


THE  HIGH  HEART  . 

tmerf  being  twice  a  week,  with  fair  regularity     Tuesda™ 

bon.    It  was  mdeed  this  variati<m  that  saved  theaW^ 
on  a  certain  a£t«.oon  when  otherwise  JTSSlT^TtL^ 


CHAPTER  XV 
"U/'^'^fd  come  to  February.  19X4.    During  the  inter 

Strangways's  sister,  Mrs  Apolegate   C7  ^l'    ^"^^ 

Rossiler  was  as  friendly  as  fear  of  h^r  fJZ    ^    ,    ^^ 
««»ssheh.ds„.^^tS,„?"^°"^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


1 


wMe  Hugh  sta«d  after  him  ^th  tears  of  vexation  in  his 

It  was  then  that  she  gave  me  to  understand  that  if  it 
^  not  that  Mildxed  was  lending  him  mo^y  W^d 
W  nothmg  to  subsist  on  at  all.  Mildred  had  a  h^e 
fen  her  grandfather  Brew,  being  privileged  in  this  LZ 

duldren  born  at  the  time  of  the  grandfather's  demise 
The  legacy  had  been  a  trifle,  but  from  this  fund.  whiS 
never  been  his  father's.  Hugh  consented  to  take  iZs 
stJIrtVif?^^'  .7  ^"^  *°  ^^  the  next  time  I  had 
Xkw  w  .^?'v  ''°°*  y^  "^  "°^  that  he's  iiW 
enable?    He'U  either  starve  you  into  surrende,-"^^ 

_  Never,    he  cried,  thumping  the  table  with  his  hand. 

^  Or  else  you  must  take  such  work  as  you  can  get." 
Sudi  work  as  I  can  get!    Do  you  know  how  much  that 
would  bring  me  in  a  week?"  ""wmucntiiat 

J!^'^''u°'"^  'T°^^'  "y°"'<^  have  work  and  I  should 
nave  work,  and  we'd  live."  s"uma 

He  was  hurt. 

"Ameri^  don't  beUeve  in  working  their  women,"  he 
dedared.  loftily.  "If  I  can't  give  you  a  hfe  in  which  j^ou'U 
have  nothing  at  all  to  do— "  "^j'wu 

tod!''*  1  ^°°A  ''Ti''  ^^  ^  ^^''^  I'l  have  nothing  at  aU 
to  do,  Icned.  ."Your  idle  women  strike  me  as  fweik 
P«nt  m  your  national  organization.  It's  like  the  di^ 
^es  I  ve  seen  at  some  of  your  restaurants  and  hotels-^ 

You  revohe  too  much  in  separate  sDheres.  Your  w^S 
have  too  httle  to  do  with  business  and  poUtics^d^- 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

men  with  sodety  and  the  fine  arts.    Vw  lot  used  to  such  a 
gtUess  separation  of  the  sexes.    Don't  let  us  begin  it 
Hugh.darhng.    Let  me  share  what  you  share-" 
vouTw'^^'^^  ^"^^^^^  '°"  ''^'  '''^■"'  Alix,  I  can  teU 
thiakof  but  having  a  good  time  and  looking  your  p™t- 

joke^  ^°^^  ^^  °^  '*'"  ^  ^"^^^^^^  *>"'  this  he  took  as  a 
That  had  passed  in  January.  What  Ethel  Rossiter  told 
me  the  next  trnie  I  lunched  with  her  was  that  Lady  Cecilia 
Boscobel  had  accepted  her  invitation  and  was  expected 
with,„  a  few  weeks.  She  repeated  what  she  had  already 
said  of  her,  in  exactly  the  same  words. 

and?nl?^°°f '?'^,°^^^''''  ^''^^''■"  Myheartleaped 
and  lell  ahnost  simultaneously.  If  I  could  only  give  up 
Hugh  in  such  a  way  that  he  would  have  to  give  me  up  this 
gjrl  might  help  us  out  of  our  impasse.  Had  Mrs.  Rossiter 
stopped  there  I  might  have  made  some  noble  vow  of  renun- 

r«t"v''   ^'^^  ^,\™"t  °°=    "K  sh.  wants  Hugh  she'U 
take  him.    Don  t  be  under  any  illusion  about  that  " 
Though  my  quick  mettle  was  up,  I  said,  docilely 

fro™^^  ^'u  "°'-  .^'''  "  ^°^  •"^"  *^"g  him  away 
th^?^  ^  ^       "^^  ^^'^  ^''^  ^^^  '*•  haven't 

"Cissie  Boscobel  hasn't  tried  it." 

But  I  was  peaceably  incUned. 

"Oh,  well,"  I  said,  "perhaps  she  won't.  She  may  not 
think  it  worth  her  while."  ""ay  not 

J15  y°"J'^*  *°  ^°'^  ^y  opinion,"  Mrs.  Rossiter  in- 
^ted,  as  she  helped  herself  to  the  peas  which  the  rosebud 
Thomas  was  passing,  "I  think  she  will.  Men  aren't  so 
plentiful  over  there  as  you  seem  to  suppose-that  is  men 
"1 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

of  the  kind  they'd  many.  L«d  Goldbor^ogh  has  no 
money  at  aU.  u  you  might  say.  and  yet  the  girls  have  to  be 
set  up  in  big  establishments.  You've  only  got  to  look 
at  them  to  see  it.  Cissie  marrying  a  subaltern  with  a 
thou«md  pounds  a  year  isn't  thinkable.  It  wouldn't  dress 
her  She  s  coming  over  here  to  take  a  look  at  Hugh,  and 
J  she  hkes  him-  WeU.  I  told  yea  long  ago  that  y^^d  be 
wise  to  snap  up  that  young  Stmngways.  He^  much 
better-looking  than  Hugh,  and  more  in  your  own-  Be- 
sides. Jmi  ^ys  that  now  that  he's  with  "-she  balked  at 
the  name  of  Graingei— "now  that  he's  where  he  is  he's 
beginning  to  make  money.  It  doesn't  take  so  long  when 
people  have  the  brains  for  it." 

AU  this  gave  me  a  feeUng  of  mmgled  curiosity  and  fear 
when,  a  few  w^ks  later.  I  came  on  .Mrs.  Rossiter  and  Lady 
Ce^  Boscobel  looking  into  a  shop  window  in  F^h 
A^Jnue.  It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon,  the  day  which  I 
had  oflE  and  on  which  I  made  my  modest  purchases  It 
was  a  cold,  brisk  day,  with  light  snow  whirHng  in 'tiny 
eddies  on  the  ground.  I  was  going  northward  on  the 
sunnyside  At  a  distance  of  some  fifty  yards  I  recognized 
Mrs.  Rossiter  s  motor  standing  by  the  curb,  and  c^t  my 

f^  t^""*  ^'  *  ^"^  «'^P^  °f  ^^-  Moving  away 
from  the  window  of  the  jeweler's  whence  she  had  probably 
come  out,  she  saw  me  approach,  and  turned  at  on«  with  a 
word  or  two  to  the  lady  beside  her,  who  also  looked  in  my 
direction.  I  knew  by  intuition  who  Mrs.  Rossiter's  com- 
P^on  was,  and  that  my  connection  with  the  family  had 
been  explamed  to  her. 

Mss.  Rossiter  made  the  presentation  in  her  usual  off- 
hand way. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

til^  *^<**"8«J  «va.  «mote,  and  noncommittal  saluta- 
bon«,  each  of  us  with  her  hands  in  her  muff.    My  imme- 
diate mipresswn  was  one  of  «>lor,  as  it  is  when  you  see  old 
Lunoges  enamels.    There  was  mon»  color  in  I^y  cSie's 
personality  than  m  that  of  any  one  I  have  ever  looked  at 
Her  hair  was  red-not  auburn  or  copper,  but  red-^ 
decorative,  flaming  red.    I  have  often  noticed  how  slight 
u.  the  difference  bet«^n  beautiful  red  hair  and  ugly 
Lady  Cissie's  was  of  the  shade  that  is  generally  ugly,  Lt 
which  m  her  case  was  rendered  glorious  by  the  introduc 
..on  of  some  such  pigment,  gleaming  and  umber,  as  that 
which  gives  the  peculiar  hue  to  Australian  gold.    I  had 
never  seen  such  hair  or  hair  in  such  quantities,  except  in 
certain  pictures  of  the  pre-Raphaelite  brotherhood   for 
whidi  I  should  have  supposed  there  could  have  been  no 
earthly  model  had  my  father  not  known  Eleanor  Siddall 
Lady  Cissie  s  eyes  were  gray,  with  a  greenish  light  in  them 
when  she  turned  her  head.    Her  complexion  could  on^ 
be  compared  to  the  kind  of  carnation  in  which  the  whitest 
ofwhites  IS  flecked  in  just  the  right  spots  by  the  «,siest 
rose.     In  the  hps.  which  were  full  and  firm,  also  like 
Eleanor  Siddall's,  the  rose  became  cannine,  to  melt  awS 
into  c^al-pink  in  the  shell-like  ears.    Her  dress  of  seal- 
brown  broaddoth,  on  which  there  was  a  sheen,  was  relieved 
by  occasional  touches  of  sage-green,  and  the  numerous 
saWe  tails  on  her  boa  and  muff  blew  this  way  and  that  way 
m  the  wind.     In  the  small  black  hat.  perched  at  what  I 
^  only  descnbe  as  a  triumphant  angle,  an  orange  wing 
becanie  at  the  tip  of  each  tiny  topmost  feather  a  daring 
Ime  of  scarlet.    Nestling  on  the  sag^green  below  the 
throat  a  row  of  amber  beads  slumbered  and  smoldered 
with  lemon  and  orange  and  ruby  Ughts  that  now  and  then 
snot  out  rays  of  crimson  or  scarlet  fire. 


i 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  thought  of  my  own  eortume— natunOly.  I  was  in 
gray,  with  inexpeniivB  Uack  fun.  An  iride«*nt  buckle 
with  hues  such  as  you  see  in  a  pigeon's  neck,  at  the  side  of 
my  black-velvet  toque  was  my  only  bit  of  color.  I  was 
pow  Jenny  Wren  in  contrast  to  a  splendid  bird-of-paradise 
So  be  It !  I  could  at  least  be  a  foil  to  this  healthy,  vigorous 
young  beauty  who  was  two  inches  taUer  than  I,  and  might 
have  my  share  of  the  advantages  which  go  with  aU  L- 
ti  thesis. 

The  talk  was  desultory,  and  in  it  the  English  girl  took  no 
part.  Mrs.  Rossiter  asked  me  where  I  was  going,  what  I 
was  gomg  for,  and  whether  or  not  she  couldn't  take  me  to 
my  destination  in  her  car.  I  declined  this  offrr,  explained 
that  my  errands  were  trivial,  and  examined  Lady  Cissie 
through  the  comer  of  my  eye.  On  her  side  Lady  Cissie 
examined  me  quite  frankly-not  haughtily,  but  distanUy 
and  rather  sympatheticaUy.  She  had  come  aU  this  di^ 
tance  to  take  a  look  at  Hugh,  and  I  was  the  girl  he  loved. 

l^^  ^l  ^!  ^.  *°  ^^  ^^  J"""y  Wren  her  value, 
and  I  think  it  did.  At  any  rate,  when  I  had  answered  aU 
Mrs.  Rossiter  s  questions  and  was  moving  off  to  continue 
my  way  up-town,  Lady  Cissie's  rich  lips  quivered  in  a  sort 
01  farewell  smile. 

But  Hugh  showed  little  interest  when  I  painted  her  por- 
trait verbally.  '^ 

"Yes,  that's  the  girl,"  he  observed,  indifferenUy,  "red- 
headed, long-legged,  slashy-colored,  laid  on  a  bit  too 
thick. 

"She's  beautiful,  Hugh." 

"Is  she.'    WeU,  perhaps  so.    Wouldn't  be  my  style- 
but  every  one  to  his  taste." 
"  If  you  saw  her  now — " 
"Oh,  I've  seen  her  often  enough,  just  as  she's  seen  me." 

333 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

yoii2^''w ''  "f^  y°"  «  y°»  «*  to^y,  and  neither  h.ye 
you  seen  her.    A  few  years  makes  a  difference." 
«e  looked  at  me  quizzically 

tmnk  Id  turn  you  down  now-for  all  the  Lady  Cissies  in 
the  Bntish  peerage?    Do  you.  now?"  ^^^  *-'»•««, 

;;  Not  perhaps  if  you  put  it  as  turmng  me  down-" 
Well,  as  you  tummg  me  down,  then?" 
Our  outlook  is  pretty  dark,  isn't  it  >" 
'Just  wait." 

sentinr'  '''  '''"''"  '""'^"'^  '°  ~"'--  -y  own 
,Jlf"'^-!'^'^  ^^^^  "  ^  '"^a"t-    You'd  have  a  hand 

you  regret  the  day  you  e\'er  saw  me—" 
"Or  regret  yourself  the  day  you  ever  sawme." 

my  owT    "'  *""  '^'''''  '*  "^  """^  ^-  ^-  «ke  than 

"Then  suppose  I  accept  that  way  of  putting  it?" 

wh  t  r^  ^*  ""^  ^'"^y-  fo^  ^  «=«'nd  or  two  after 
which  he  burst  out  laughing.    That  I  might  iJZh^^ 

more  fh«  ^"""17'  °^^  ^^'^  t''^  B^rokensruT^ 
jealcusy  of  Larry  Strangways,  but  his  doubt  could  eo  no 
Cecja  and  they  had  renewed  their  early  acquaint*^ 

"Fine  big  girl,"  Hugh  commended,  "but  too  showy  " 
223  '■ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"She's  not  showy,"  I  contradicted     "A  fh-      •    . 
ne^ssarily  showy  because  it  h«bS  coli  ^  '^  J 
bmlsarenotshowy.nor„>ses,norSel^!°"-    ^"^'"^^ 
i  prefer  pearls,"  he  said  auietiv     "v^  - 

ficial  fly  thafsto  tempt  theSLyilei'tt^^*^- 
nunnow.  Once  I've  darted  afterX  wT^^^  !  ^"^ 
^  win  have  hookedTr  TW-  t  °^  "^  *"''  5^°'' 
think  I  see  it  ?m!^?!;    ^^*  ^ '''s  game.     Don't  you 

beans  to  rich  Amends-  bul  f;;!  'L'  "?  ?^°^  ^ 

«.  to  me.  for  rra^  mu^'^rsSr""°"°^- 
a!most."  ooaalist  as  ever— ca- 

di^rwtt/rdfoSfrt  -°"''«^« -"oping and 
What  r  could  do  for  the^test  included  watching  over 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

harto  and  I  grew  the  more  anxious.    So  far  no  one  sus- 

best  of  my  knowledge  her  imprudence  ended  ther^. 
F^er  than  to  wander  about  the  room  the  love«  nev^ 
taed  to  elude  me.  though  now  and  then  I  ^d  If 
without  v^tdung  them,  that  he  took  her  h^T(^ 
«^  W  I  thought  he  kissed  her,  but  of  that  I^ 
happ  ly  not  sure.    It  was  a  leUef.  too,  that  as  the  dZ 

ttere.    The  old  gentleman  interested  in  prints  and  the 

t^^iTn^^  '^^^"'^  *°°'  ''^^  '^"*'«^  in.  seeing  far 
the:r  own  pt:rposes  a  half-hour  of  privacy.  After  aU  Z 
^^  was  atoost  a  pubhc  one  to  those  who  knew  howZ 

Sblid  vT  ^  '^"^'^  "'°"«''  *°  ^  *^*  in  this  ^ 
pubUaty  lay  a  measure  of  salvation 

Mrs   Biokenshire  was  as  quick  to  perceive  this  as  I 

When  there  were  other  people  there  she  was  more  a'  Sse 

Nothmg  was  smipler  then  than  for  Mr.  Grainger  ^dl^l 

^to  be  visitors  like  the  rest,  strolling  about^  sittfeglL 

shady  com«s,   and  keeping  themselves  unrecoSd^ 

T^ere  was  thus  a  Thursday  in  the  early  pmTE; 

^y  «n>e,  however,  only  to  find  the  old  gentle,^^ 
t««ted  m  prmts  and  the  lady  who  studied  Shakespel^ 
a^yonthespot.    I  was  never  so  glad  of  anytt^^ 

It  was  between  half  past  five  and  six  on  the  Friday.    As 

the  lovers  had  come  on  the  preceding  day,  I  knew  thw 

wotdd  not  appear  on  this.  and%^S«i  to^l^ 

preparations  for  going  home.    I  was  actu^  P^^ 

aas 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


then  th«.  ca^^  ^^^^  j!««  7«  vestibule,  and 

srsS%sr-~H-- 

Mr.orMrs.Dyrhin'S  ^^  "^  ^"^  *h«»   -d 

Knowing  that  there  was  nothing  far  it  but  to  »^ 
who  was  there,  and  susnert,-n7!w  ■        *°*^^"*^ 

Brokenslnre,  af ^^  TSS       */*  "^^^^  ^  Mrs. 
intervening  paceT    li  l^^t'^^'J'^'  ^^  *»■«  ^^^ 

this  little  deco;ti!:''^„"^t^^^«-<^-aiesticin 
which  to  gaze,  a  few  s««^^c  •     t?!^  *  ^^^  ^^""^  'n 

luaeshoTOllt.    H,hT;J?'^/'"'"«'".W>«ti. 

;» sxr  sctrr  "^  '^'^  -- 

fore.  ™  "^  ®ver  having  met  him  be- 

aa6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"You'd  like  to  see  the  libranr.  sir,"  I  said  as  T  rf,n„M 
have  said  it  to  any  chance  visito!  '  ^'*' <«  ^  *°«ld 

He  dropped  into  a  large  William  and  Mary  chair  one 
of  theshowpieces  and  placed  his  silk  hat  on^eS  " 
His  sti^  t'l  !;!?'"™'^l««t°««thantohin>self. 
asjfack  he  dandled  now  across  and  now  between  his 

The  tea  things  were  still  on  the  table 

so2S' ""  "^  *  *"^  °' *^^"  ^  «^  «  8--e 
"Y^-no."    I  think  he  would  have  liked  it  but  he 

He  breathed  heavily,  with  short,  puffy  gasps     I  ~. 

Sfh^      ?         As  a  „,atter  of  fact,  he  put  his  gloved 
Z^^  to  .,  as  people  do  who  feel  somethingUg 

To  relieve  the  embarrassment  of  the  situation  I  said- 
I  could  turn  on  all  the  lights  and  you  could  see  the 
library  without  going  round  it."  ■ 

Withdrawing  the  hand  at  his  heart,  he  r^sed  it  in  the 
manner  with  which  I  was  familiar 

of  bS^°2^'  '=°™''^^'  -  ^y  -  his  shortne. 

The  companion  William  and  Mary  chair  being  near  I 

dipped  into  it.    Having  him  in  thiLquarters  pX'  I 

venfy  Mrs.  Brokenshu-e's  statements  that  Hugh's  affairs 
were-tellmgonhim."  He  was  pen^ptibly  older^^^ 
way  m  which  people  look  older  aU  at  once  after  havS! 
W  kept  the  semblance  of  youth.  The  skin  had  ^^ 
baggy,  the  eyes  tired;  the  beard  and  mustache,  tho^^ 
a2j 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

wencaredforasever.morededdedlymixedwithgmv     It 
was  md.«t.ve  of  something  that  had  begun  to  dSLte 

':^S:X^  Hght  one  on  »e  with  no  eff^ 

As  It  was  for  him  to  break  the  sflence  I  waited  in  m, 
h,^  ornamental  chair,  hoping  he  wo^d  b^T  "^ 

What  are  you  doing  here '" 

•"sSi^h2rcfS^^"i-p««'.-^y. 

"Since  not  long  after  I  left  Mre.  Rossiter." 
-n^^^  tune  to  think  another  question  out. 

fa^Sr^'  p  *^-°^''  he  had  had  no  kno^vled^  the 
fact,  that  Mis.  Rossjter  had  employed  forher  boy  Brokm 

hfhS'Sntr  2r£^:fs°  'Z.=2'" 

had  foUowed.  after  which  Mr^^  ^  ^J^X 
had  ne^  of  a  hbrarm,  Mr.  Strangways  had  sugg,^^^ 

"Had  you  no  other  recommendation?" 
tdd^  ot"" ''*'''■  "^^^^  " '^°°^  *^' M'- G«inger  ever 
He  let  that  pass. 
"And  what  do  you  do  here?" 

what  he  wants.      I  thought  it  wdl  to  keep  up  the  fiction 

339 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


"K  you'd  care  to  go 


that  he  had  come  as  a  sight-eeer. 
over  the  place  now,  sir—" 

steadily  as  I  continued.     'TU  ^i  J  ^^^,.«*  "'^ 

me  was  so  much  that-  rJj  ,  turned  on 

B.  kenshire  comes  to  see  me."  **"• 

"To  see — ^you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  to  see  me." 
^jnje  staccato  accent  grew  difficult  and  thick.    "What 

"B^t^shecan'thelpit.    She's  sorry  for  me." 
asSSd^""^"^P**°'«°— d-ytn^uWes 

;' Why  should  she  be  Sony  for  you?" 

..  ?f^^,  *«  «« that  you're  hard  on  me-" 

Well,  just  then;  but  Afe.  Bn>kenshi«  doesn't  know 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

Jy  at  Newport-^ter  you'd  spoke^tttd  she  2. 
ttat  I  was  so  crushed  by  it  that  aU  I  could  do  wJtol^ 
^  anaong  the  xocks  and  cry-^e  watchS  ^  ^^ 

"Who  told  her?" 

"Very  well!    What  then?" 

"I  was  only  going  to  say  that  when  she  heard  I  was  hen, 

-r'."^'"'""'*-    Ibeggedhernot^"        '•'^ 

Why?    What  were  you  aftaid  of?" 

I  knew  you  wouldn't  like  it.    But  r  m„Ur,'t  t—  i. 

No  one  could  stop  her  when  it  00.?^,^^^  T^^^ 

fandn^^    She  obeys  her  own  nature  beca^^s^^f 

do  anj^ng  els.    She's  like  a  HtUe  bird  Zt^Zl 

ti.r^^h:ssie'^i^erif^;- -  -- 

•n  her  as  buds  are  nipS  a  i^Z^i^'STr^, 

2t2r£f=rrSdirri-^ 

Praise  of  the  woman  he  adored  would  have  been  as 
»30 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

mise,  and  so  be  otp^^?'  .^*  **  '^  ^  «>wld  sur- 
right  words,  did  he  »y .  ^*^  "^  '^^*^'^  «*<>  the 
col^"  ""  ^  '^'^y^  «--«  When  M«.  Brokenshi. 

•Jay.  for  instance-^  doesa  t  seem  to  niind.    Yester- 

see.^-there  was  an  old  ^M^:.  ^  ^  ^~^^  ">« 
prints  with  Mr.  GrS.Sf  ^"  ^i!f "« '''^  J^P^«« 
«»nes  to  study  the oTdSr^aTt^^""^  ^^  '^'^^ 
Biokenshi,^  idn't  objS  to  ^1  t^^^"  °"'  ^'^■ 
had  a  cup  of  tea  "  ^^^  ^'  '^'*  "ne  and 

tion:  "Was  there  a^Slse^^f v^!  "'''f  2?^  ''"^ 
^t  of  my  maxim,  toS  £ 'bij^  f^'^"*''  '»  '^« 
knew  how.  But  I  didn-f^-  ,  ..  *  ^  harmlessly  as  I 
oned  on  his  unSiUi^S^  t?^^'  "^^  ^  '*•  ^  ^- 
or  to  humilirte  ta^f^l^  "^  into  his  confidence 

«>spect;  but  I  was  s^trT  '"^.^'"'^  I  <»uld  easily 
tongue  'rath^tl^  forc^is  onT't'  ''"^  *°™  °"'  "^^ 
tocology.  thatlwasaMeSr^"^^""^^--^^  - 

gWortriiJ^^kSi^^I^^-.-dthroughthe 

-as  contorted^ce  sS^^o  e^'  "t-  "^^  '^  ^^ 

his  misfortune.    As  heT^  th?.^^  °"  •"' P^  *° '^de 

j^  ^  ^®  *°°^  *^e  tune  to  think  I  could  do 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

!^K?Tl,^**?  a  kind  of  intuition  in  Mowing  the  couiw, 
ofhismeditataons.  I  was  not  suiprised,  th«*fore  ^ 
he  8ajd,vwth  renewed  thickness  of  utterance-  ' 

d^^U^lu^"'^'^"^^  ^^-^y  °*»>*  native  in 
commg  here  than  just— just  to  see  you?" 

I  hung  my  head,  perhaps  with  a  touch  of  that  play- 
acung  spmt  which  most  women  are  able  to  comnLd. 
when  the  tmie  comes.  "-uouu, 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  waited  again.  I  never  heard  such  overtones  of 
deq,a.r  ^  were  m  the  three  words  which  at  last  he  tried 
to  toss  oflf  easily. 

"What  is  it?" 

I  still  hung  my  head. 

'  She  brings  me  money  for  poor  Hugh  " 

f.iP  ^^^^  ^  ''^^^^  fr"^  «°8«-  °r  «Kef  I  couldn't 
^.  and  his  face  twitched  for  the  fourth  time.  In  the 
«d  I  suppose,  he  decided  that  anger  was  the  card  he 
could  play  most  skilfully.  ""u  uo 

"So  that  that;s  what  enables  him  to  keep  up  his  rebel- 
hon  agamst  me!"  *-    f  "»  rewa 

T  1^?'  ^•".{'^^-  ''""'biy,  "becau.*  he  never  takes  it." 
JZ  T  ""'\'^u  P°^*  °^  ^-  Brokenshire  which  I 
vowed^e  would  have  to  justify.  "That  doesn't  make 
any  difference,  however,  to  her  wonderful  tendem«^ 
of  hear^  m  wanting  him  to  have  it.  You  see.  sir^^ 
^y  one's  so  much  like  an  angel  as  she  is  they  don't  s^ 
to  consider  how  justly  other  people  are  suff4«  or  l3 
they  ve  brought  their  tumbles  on  themselves     Wh^ 

S't^.^    T""*  ^  '°  ''^-    ^-  Bn^kenshir* 

enters  her  head:    she  only  wants  him  not— not  "-^y 

'3' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

OTOvdce  shook  a  Uttle-"not  to  have  to  go  without  hi. 
P«p«nieaU.  He's  domg  that  now.  I  think-twaetimes 
at  least  Oh.  s^.  •  I  ventured  to  plead,  "you^^^TK 
her  not  when  she's  «^-«>  heavenly."  Stealing  a  glance 
at  ^.  I  was  amazed  and  shocked,  and  not  a  Httle  oom- 

Siw  *r  *r  ^  **«^  ^"^  his  withered  cheeks. 
Knowing  then  that  he  would  not  for  some  minutes  be  able 
to  control  himself  sufficiently  to  speak,  I  humed  on. 
Hugh  doesn  t  take  the  money,  because  he  knows  that 
tks  .s  sometiung  he  must  go  through  with  on  his  own 
r^f^    K  h«  <fn't  do  that  he  must  give  in.    I  think 
Ive  made  that  dear  to  him.    I'm  not  the  adventuress 
you  consider  me-indeed  I'm  not.    I've  told  him  that  if 
he  s  ever  mdependent  I  will  marry  him;  but  I  shall  not 
mwry  hmj  so  long  as  he  isn't  free  to  give  himself  away. 
He  s  puttmg  up  a  big  fight,  and  he's  doing  it  so  bmvely. 
that  If  you  only  knew  what  he's  going  through  you'd  be 
proud  of  him  as  your  son. " 

Rating  my  case  there,  I  waited  for  some  response,  but 
I  waited  m  vam.  He  reflected,  and  sat  sUent,  and  crossed 
and  uncn^  his  knees.  At  last  he  picked  up  his  hat 
&om  the  floor  and  rose.  I,  too,  rose,  waiting  beside  my 
chau-,  while  he  flicked  the  dust  from  the  crown  of  his  hat 
and  seemed  to  study  its  glossy  surface  as  he  still  reflected 
I  was  now  altogether  without  a  due  to  what  was  pass- 
mm  his  mind,  though  I  could  guess  at  the  age-long 
togedy  of  December's  love  for  May.    Having  seen  Ibsen's 

MMta  Builder,"  at  Munidi,  and  read  one  or  two  books 
on  the  theme  with  whidi  it  deals,  I  could,  in  a  measure 
aipplem^t  my  own  eicperience.  It  was,  however,  the  firet 
tone  I  had  seen  with  my  own  eyes  this  desperate  yearning 
of  age  for  youth,  or  this  something  that  is  ahnost  a  death- 
blow w*ich  youth  can  inflict  on  age.  My  father  used  to 
»33 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

young  as  he  L  S  ^twJ^v  fl"^  T  '^'^^  " 
:  instincts  andXE-  LT  '^  .!^=  '"'  '^  ">«  ««« 
«  anything.  iH^S  l^iL"^  '^^  ^^ 
cause  of  the  long.^^bS  T^  ""P*"?"^/  be- 
thirty  yeare  aeo  he  c^M  h       f  ,  ^^-    °*°^  ^"ch 

see  anguish  on  hi,  li^^  u-  .        a*  him  I  could 

his  foTea^-the  irl^^  T'  ''^  ">«  ~"t^on  of 
to  the  object  o?ft  St  1  V""^  "'^"^'^  *°  »"'  '^^ 
that  at  siity-tm.  the  Sit^"^  "°T^-  ^"^  *«  «ason 
was  suppos^rbe^^^"  had  grown  baggy  and  the  heart 

timbre  of  the  voice  ^'^^^  "^«^<»  was  again  in  the 

"How  much  do  you  get  here?" 
^Iwas  taken  aback,  but  I  named  the  anunmt  of  my 

yeZ^frouToS":^"*'^'^- *»•-«*  five 
It  toot  «,»  ,     •  ""^  y°"  oame  &om." 

tainUtiS  htrr«?  T  ^.^  ^^«^«- — 

was  making  Lim^,^-    ^  ^^."-en  that  if  I  hoped  I 
Mrs.  Bn>kenshSrchai"*^;„^'»y  «*^fT'«t-tion  °^ 

«^t-a.Lr:/r£fi^^^^^ 

»34 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He  continued  to  watch  his  gloved  hand  u  it  niade  the 
arde  of  the  crown  of  his  hat.  ^  ««»  me 

"111  n>ake  it  twice  what  you're  getting  here  for  ten 
y««.  Ill  put  in  It  my  will."  It  was  no  use  being  anerv 
or  mounting  my  high  horse.  The  struggle  with  teS 
kept  rne  sUent  as  he  glanced  up  from  the  rubWng  of  his 
hat  ^d^said  ma  jerky,  kindly  tone:  "WeU?    TWuit  do 

I  didn't  know  what  to  say;  and  what  I  did  say  was 

^1 LT'  "*"  "^"^  ^'  ^  -«'"-  ^ 

"Do  you  remember,  sir,  that  once  when  you  were  speak- 
mg  to  me  sevo^y,  you  said  you  were  my  friend?  WeU. 
why  shouldn't  I  be  your  friend,  too  ?" 

The  look  he  bent  down  on  me  was  that  of  a  great 
peraonage  positively  dazed  by  an  inferior's  audacity 

^iT^^  ^  y°^  ^"''"''•"  ^  stabled  on,  in  an  absurd 
effort  to  explain  myself.  "I  should  like  to  be.  There 
are— there  are  things  I  could  do  for  you  " 

He  put  on  his  taU  hat  with  the  air  of  a  Charlemagne  or 
a  Napoleon  crowmng  himself.  This  increase  of  at^ority 
must  have  made  me  desperate.    It  is  only  thus  that  I 

T  TTl  °^  ""^  ?a#^the  French  word  alone  expresses 
>t— as  I  dashed  on,  wildly :  ^^ 

hut  t'^T;-^^"^"'*  ^^^  '*•  ^  ^°°'*  ^'^  why, 
but  I  do.  I  hke  you  m  spite  of-in  spite  of  everything. 
And,  oh,  I  m  so  sorry  for  you—" 

He  moved  away.  There  was  noble,  wounded  offense 
m  his  manner  of  passing  through  the  wrought-iron  grille, 
which  he  closed  with  a  Httle  click  behind  him.  He  stuped 
out  of  the  place  as  softiy  as  he  had  stepped  in 

For  long  minutes  I  stood,  holding  to  the  side  of  the 
WUham  and  Mary  chair,  regretting  that  the  interview 
335 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

twtaolonger  any  tendency  to  tea«.    IwJlhoogS- 
•^ng  what  .t  wa.  that  dug  the  gulf  betw««S«^ 

^JZ  l^  T°?^''  "ow-aocepted  n»  «  an  equal. 
*nd  even  to  Hugh  I  was  only  another  type  of  S 

j^Lj  'T  "  ^n?'«-t « they,  as  weU^°^„  IJS 
»a»««d  as  thoj^hly  accustomed  to  the  world  ^ 
Jhould  they  coMider  me  «.  inferior?    Was  it  because  I 

I^JdnMTtd  A?,T?  •  **  ""*  ^^  '^y  °^  themselves? 
1  conldn  t  teU     AU  I  knew  was  that  my  heart  was  hot 

n»  as  a  faend  I  wanted  to  act  as  his  enemy.  I  could  s« 
coo^d  encoury,  and  perhaps  bring  about,  a  situfticm^t 

^  of  wo  continents  and  break  his  heart.    1  had  only 
to  «t  sUl-or  at  m<«t  to  put  in  a  word  here  and  there.    I 
am  not  a  saint;  I  had  my  hour  of  temptation. 
It  ^  a  stonny  hour,  though  I  never  moved  from  the 

Tch^y,      ^*^-    '^'  ^*°™  ^  within     C 
Which,  as  the  minutes  went  by   became  ra«.  ;„ 

jn^  satisfaction  Howam  Bi^l^'n^J/^rd^ 

^te  old  age.  and  Mildred  and  Ethel  and  jlck  and  S 

^m^ite  of  their  bravado  and  their  high  h^^ 

as  to  gloat  over  poor  Hugh's  discomfitui^,  taking  ven- 
«^  on  h«  habit  of  rating  me  with  the  s;^^^.,^ 
Petent.    As  for  Mrs.  Brokenshire.  she  would  te  ^^ 

«uch  that  even  as  Mrs.  Stacy  Gnunger  she  would  nev« 
336 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


CHAPTER  XVI 

LJAVING  made  up  my  mind  to  adhere,  however  im- 
1  iperfecUy,  to  the  prindtjle  that  had  guided  me 
hitherto,  I  was  obliged  to  examine  my  conscience  as  to 
what  I  had  said  to  Mr.  Brokenshire.  This  I  did  in  the 
evenmg,  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  told  him 
nothing  but  the  truth,  even  if  it  was  not  all  the  truth 
Though  I  hated  dupUdty.  I  couldn't  see  that  I  had  a  right 
to  tell  him  all  the  truth,  or  that  to  do  so  would  be  wise 
If  he  could  be  kept,  for  everybody's  sake,  from  knowing 
more  than  he  knew  aheady.  however  much  or  Uttle  that 
was.  It  seemed  to  me  that  diplomatic  action  on  my  part 
would  be  justified. 

In  the  line  of  diplomatic  action  I  had  before  all  things 
to  inform  Mrs.  Brokenshire  of  the  visit  I  had  received 
This  was  not  so  easy  as  it  may  seem.  I  could  not  trust 
to  a  letter,  through  fear  of  its  falling  into  other  hands 
than  hers.  Ndther  could  I  wait  for  her  coming  on  the 
foUowmg  Tuesday,  since  that  was  what  I  wanted  to  pre- 
vent. There  was  no  intermediary  whom  I  could  intrust 
with  a  message,  unless  it  was  Larry  Stiangways,  who  knew 
something  of  the  facts;  but  even  with  him  the  secret  was 
too  much  to  share. 

In  the  end  I  had  recourse  to  the  telephone,  asking  to 
be  allowed  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Brokenshire.     I  was  told  that 
she  never  answered  the  telephone  herself,  and  was  le- 
238 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


<J"«sted  to  transmit  my  messape     N„t  t« 

P^  I  didn't  ask  tJ  shrXld'^lTh^re  W 

•»d  d.boj,t,,  md  the  t.5»i,  to,  high  fatatoB? 

S':Stirrc.s.'r  ,ii^"j"»^'"  0^^ 

,v_  •        f  ,  =t«;"i.  witn  ner,  i  had  earned  awav  the  im 

TarZT':':'^  '^^'"''^  ^y  ^  princely  de^^'i^^ 
dart  who  had  received  carte  blanche  in  the  way  of  de^^ 

they  Hved     Fth^i  p     •.       •         *^^   '^^   ''Wch 
^•1. .     ^*""-'  ""'cw  a  ±'erugino  from  a  Fraponar/I    a„A 

softness  of  a  Flemish  fifteenth.H»ntury  tapestry  ^f 
"39 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

smug  and  staring  bit  of  GobeUns.  Hugh  went  in  and  out 
as  indifferently  as  in  a  hotel,  while  Jack  Brokenshire's 
taste  mart  hardly  reached  beyond  racing  prints.  Mildied 
liked  pretty  garlanded  things  it  la  Marie  Antoinette,  which 
the  parental  haWt  of  deciding  everything  would  never 
let  her  have.  J.  Howard  alone  made  an  effort  at  knowing 
the  value,  artistic  and  otherwise,  of  his  possessions,  and 
would  sometimes,  when  strangers  were  present,  point  to 
this  or  that  object  with  the  authority  of  a  connoisseur, 
which  he  was  not. 

It  was  a  house  for  life  in  perpetual  state,  with  no  state 
to  maintain.    Stafford  House,  Holland  House,  Bridge- 
water  House,  to  name  but  a  few  of  the  historic  mansions 
in  London,  were  made  spacious  and  splendid  to  meet  a  defi- 
nite necessity.    They  belonged  to  days  when  the  feudal 
tradition  still  obtained   and  there  were  no  comfortable 
hotels.    Great  lords  came  to  them  with  great  famihes 
and  great   suites   of  retainers.    Accommodation  being 
the  first  of  aU  needs,  there  was  a  time  when  every  comer 
of  these  stately  residences  was  Uved  in.    But  now  that 
in  England  the  great  lord  tends  more  and  more  to  be  only 
a  sunple  democratic  individual,  and  the  wants  of  his  rela- 
tives  are  easQy  met  on  a  pubUc  or  co-operative  principle, 
the  noble  Palladian  or  Georgian  dwelUng  either  becomes 
a  museum  or  a  chib,  or  remains  a  white  elephant  on  the 
hands  of  some  one  who  would  gladly  be  rid  of  it.    Princes 
and  princesses  erf  the  blood  royal  rent  numbered  houses 
m  squaies  and  streets,  next  door  to  the  Smiths  and  the 
Joneses,  in  preference  to  the  draughty  grandeurs  of  St. 
James's  and  Buckingham  Palace,  while  a  villa  in  the 
subuits,  with  a  few  trees  and  a  garden,  is  often  the  shelter 
sought  by  the  nobility. 
But  in  proportion  as  civilization  in  England,  to  say 
340 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

nothing  of  the  rest  of  Eurone  outs  off  the  i i 

oi  an  antiquated,  disappearing  statelin;ss^i^l,*^ 
just  because  they  have  the  mon^,  tSl^n  Sshc^' 
d«  huge  domestic  responsibilife  in  w^  ^Zt^: 

^  in  cSo.  Sef^^°X^.^SSjri- 
^  often  find  themsdves  lonely,  and  which  "ef<^ 
rarely  fill  more  than  two  or  three  times  a  year  In  ^ 
c«e  of  the  Howard  Brokenshires  it  hS  LS'to  L 
;Jtenasthat.  After  Ethel  was  mam^r^n^Lii^ 
«Idom  entrained,  his  second  wife  havir^  no^5^  ^ 

S^La'^S'^^-    N— ^^--.inlecoSTof: 
TZ'^  ^         ^  was  given  in  the  great  dining-room 
or  the  music-room  was  filled  for  a  conrert-  but  th;=^" 

SS  S^^5  it  °'^h^\^:i'^  ^*-  ^-*  - 

weresik^^  :  "'^^'^^  the  down-staire  rooms 
were  silent  and  empty,  and  whatever  was  life  in  the  hoZ 
wentonmacomerofthemansanl  ""^tnenouse 

TC^ther  the  footman  took  me  in  a  lift.  Herewereth. 
^^^  sort  of  flat-which  the  occupants^TToS 
natew^th  then- personalities.  They  reminded  me  of  tW 
^  ^b«s  at  Verges  to  which  what  was  hmln^ 
^  Mane  Antoinette  fled  for  refuge  from  her  un^^ 
aWe  gorgeousness  as  queen.  uncomiort' 

Not  that  these  rooms  were  tiny.  On  the  contniry  the 
hbmry  or  hvmg-room  into  which  I  was  ushered^  « 
to^as  wodd  be  found  in  the  average  big^^f 
no^thstandmg  its  tapestries  and  mas^ve  ftj^  ^ 
te|ht^  «^e  and  flower..  Books  lay^ 
and  papers  and  magarines,  and  after  the  fawib^ 
a4l 


the 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

deadness  of  the  lowet  floors  one  got  at  least 
pivssion  of  life. 

From  the  far  end  of  the  room  Mrs.  Brokenshire  came 
forward,  threading  her  way  between  arm-chairs  and 
taborets,  and  looking  more  exquisite,  and  also  more  lost, 
than  ever.  She  ^rore  what  might  be  caUed  a  glorified 
ttegltg4e,  lilac  and  lavender  shading  into  violet,  the  train 
adding  to  her  height.  Pear  had  to  some  degree  blotted 
out  her  color  and  put  trouble  into  the  sweetness  of  het 
eyes. 

"Something  has  happened,"  she  said  at  once,  as  she 
took  my  hand.' 

I  spoke  as  directly  as  she  did,  though  a  Httle  pantingly. 

I' Yes;  Mr.  Brokenshire  came  to  the  library  yesterday." 

"Ah-h!"  The  exclamation  was  no  more  than  a  long 
frightened  breath.  "Then  that  explains  things.  I  saw 
when  he  came  home  to  dinner  that  he  was  unh^)py." 

"Did  he  say  anything?" 

"No;  nothing.  H«  was  just— unhappy.  Sit  down 
and  tell  me." 

Staring  wide-eyed  at  each  other,  we  seated  ourselves  em 
the  edge  of  two  huge  ann-chairs.  Having  half  expected 
my  companion  to  fling  the  gauntlet  in  her  husband's 
face,  I  was  relieved  to  find  in  her  chiefly  the  dread  <rf 
detection. 

As  exactly  as  I  could  I  gave  her  an  account  of  what 
had  passed  between  Mr.  Brokenshire  and  myself,  omitting 
only  those  absurd  suggestions  of  my  own  that  had  sent 
him  away  in  dudgeon.  She  Ustened  with  no  more  inter- 
ruption than  a  question  or  two,  after  which  she  said, 
simply: 

"Then,  I  suppow,  I  can't  go  any  more." 
"On  the  contrary,"  I  corrected,  "you  must  come  just 
243 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Mr.  Brokenshi,.  Z^tiS^  ««^8  aU  <rf  a  sudden 
"But  he  thinks  that  already  " 

Brokenshire.  don't  yoTJt^^^..^  ^-  ^'-'  Mrs. 

°!^y  ^'PPeal  passed  unheeded. 
theSS?"^^^*?    I  thought  that  would  be 

oJ« i'^^i"^  JiSdt^l'^  '  '°*  °^  things, 
who  came  there^'  ^^""^  ^^at  some  of  the  people 

«ou  aont  mean  detert— "    ot,„  r 
difficult  to  pronounce.     ''Su  don'^    °^f   *•*"  ''°«» 
watching-mei"'  ^°"  ^on  t  mean  de-detectives 

^2^^'ZXZ^r-  ^trven^iik^iMr. 
yout;::^'-    ««'^  ««»"-•    I  made  sure  of  that  before 

we've  speJ;ily  got  to  wTl,r°^y'^y^-  ^^t 
told  y^theffret '^If'Cdr^^*^^'- 
^-usly-you-n^owyou're^o^r^S^^ 

She  sighed  plaintively 
Jldon't  want  to  do  wrong  unless  I  can't  help  it.    If  I 

"Oh.  but  you  can."    I  tried  once  more  to  get  in  my 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

point    "Yott  wouldn't  be  all  I  told  Mr.  Braksiichire 
you  were  if  your  first  instinct  wasn't  to  do  light." 

"Oh,  light!"  She  sighed  again,  tnit  impatiently. 
"You're  always  talking  about  that." 

"One  has  to,  don't  you  think,  when  it's  so  important — 
and  so  easy  to  do  wrong?" 

She  grew  mildly  argumentative. 

"I  don't  see  anything  so  terrible  about  wrong,  when 
other  people  do  it  and  are  none  the  worse." 

"  May  not  that  be  because  you've  never  tried  it  on  your 
own  account?  It  depends  a  little  on  the  grain  of  Wbicfa 
one's  made.  The  finer  the  grain,  the  more  harm  wrong 
can  do  to  it — just  as  a  fragile  bit  of  Venetian  glass  is  more 
easily  broken  than  an  earthenware  jug,  and  an  infinitdy 
greater  loss." 

But  the  simile  was  wasted.  From  long  contemplation 
of  her  hands  she  looked  up  to  say  in  a  curiously  coaxing 
tone: 

"  You  live  at  the  Hotel  Mary  Chilton,  don't  you?" 

I  caught  her  suggestion  in  a  flash,  and  decided  that  I 
could  let  it  go  no  further. 

"Yes,  but  you  couldn't  come  there—sunless  it  was  only 
to  see  me." 

"But  what  shall  I  do?" 

It  was  a  kind  of  cry.  She  twisted  her  ringed  fingers, 
vrtiile  her  eyes  implored  me  to  help  her. 

"Do  nottiing,"  I  said,  gently,  and  yet  with  some  sever- 
ity. "If  you  do  anything  do  just  as  I've  said.  That's 
all  we've  got  to  know  for  the  present." 

"But  I  must  see  him.  Now  that  I've  got  used  to  doing 
it-" 

"If  you  must  see  him,  dear  Mrs.  Brokenshire,  yoa. 
will." 

a44 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"Sh«ni?    Waiyoupixmiiaenje?" 

Ah,  but  if  It  doesn't?"  ^^'uiao— 

"S.!!^^  <*»  ^  can  know  that  it  oughtn't  to  be." 

«mL^  iS^  i^^*^""  '*  ought  to  be  or  not.  so  long  as  I 
can  go  on  seeing  him— somewhere."  '™gasi 

Ihad  enough  sympathy  with  her  to  say 

that  would  otherwise  have  come  to  us.?  I  reme^^ 
r^s^^here  of  a  lady  Who  wrote  of  hei,^:rS 

St^.^^  ^'^'""«'  ^"^  '^''^  of  it  as  a  real  cure. 
Thatjtaui  me  as  so  sensible.  Life-not  to  use  a  gi^ 
-^-Jows  much  better  what's  good  for  us  than':^^ 

^^,*f*^r!*°^P*'^'^«'*e^t  pensive. 
subiS^pl^'"^'   ^^^**^-*'^he^«sthe 

I  saw  another  opportunity. 

yr^lr  ^°"uf  ^  '^•*  *^  '^t  I'^  «^d  already? 

^tedtohdpHugh.    Hemightregietthatyoushoulddo 
both,  but  he  couldn't  blame  you  for  either.    They're  oX 

M^tf^r  ^L  ^,°^*"^  ^han  I  put  it.'-that's  your 

line  tf  Mr.  Brokenshire  ever  speaks  to  you" 

^d  suppose  he  tells  me  not  to  go  to  see  you  any 

"Then  yon  must  stop.    That  win  be  the  time.    But 
'*S 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

not  now  when  the  mere  stopping  would  be  a  kind  of  oooi 
fesdon — " 

And  »o,  after  numy  repetitions  and  some  tears  on  both 
our  parts,  the  lesson  was  urged  home.  She  was  less  docile, 
however,  when  in  the  spirit  of  our  new  compact  she  came 
on  the  following  Monday  morning. 

"I  must  see  hiri,"  was  the  burden  of  wbai  she  had  to 
say.  She  spoke  as  if  I  was  forbidding  her  and  ought  to 
lift  my  /eto.  I  might  even  have  inferred  that  in  my  posi- 
tion in  Mr.  Grainger's  employ  it  was  for  me  to  arrange 
their  meetings. 

"You  will  see  him,  dear  Mrs.  Brokenshiie— if  it's 
light,"  was  the  only  answer  I  could  find. 

"You  don't  seem  to  remember  that  I  was  to  have 
married  him." 
"  I  do,  but  we  both  have  to  remember  that  you  didn't." 
"  Neither  did  I  marry  Mr.  Brokenshiie.    I  was  handed 
over  to  him.    When  Lady  Mary  Hamilton  was  handed 
over  in  that  way  to  the  Prince  of  Monaco  the  Pope  an- 
nulled the  marriage.    We  knew  her  afterward  in  Buda- 
pest, married  to  some  one  else.    If  there's  such  a  thing  as 
right,  as  you're  so  fond  of  saying,  I  ought  to  be  considered 
free." 
I  was  holding  both  her  hands  as  I  said: 
"Don't  try  to  make  yourself  free.    Let  life  do  it." 
"Life!"   she  cried,   with  a  passionate  vehemence  I 
scarcely  knew  to  be  in  her.    "  It's  life  that— " 

"Treat  life  as  a  friend  and  not  as  •  a  enemy.  Trust  it; 
wait  for  it.  Don't  hurry  it,  or  force  it,  or  be  impatient 
with  it.  I  can't  believe  that  essentially  it's  hard  or  cruel 
or  a  curse.  If  it  comes  from  God,  it  must  be  good  and 
beautiful.  In  proportion  as  we  ding  to  the  good  and 
beautiful  we  must  surely  get  the  thing  we  ought  to  have." 
aA6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

if  V'^V  "^°*  '^^  *^*  '^  ««*Pted  this  doctrine 
^helped  her  over  a  day  or  two,  Wgme  fLXZ 
tone  bemg  to  give  my  attention  to  my  oL  4S  H^ 
mg  no  nat«ralstamina.the  poor,  lovely  UWeSureS^" 

^St^^iKerr^Si-'^x^rH 
:^^2.rdi7d-^r?s^-S™ 

short  step  of  her  way.  I  find  i^hSltpL^rr 
^mLSSe^e^^T^LrBH 

r^ors-sis£.--toiT5S 

aherome.    Any  UtUe  fright  or  difficulty  uS^T  I 

Z'^rhL",i'°'tni  '^  ^  ^'  Sh'J'wit^ 
li^;^  ^     ''P  '''"^^^'  "^  ^hen  the  sudden  mist 

as  I  was  by  the  aching  heart,  I  was  capt^ted^^ 

perfect  face;  and  I  couldn't  help  it.        '^'^^'^^  ^^  «»« 

jnius  through  the  rest  of  February  and  into  M»r.»,  ^ 

iTtht^-^  ,  T  ^  *^^  conditions  rendered  possible 
In  the  intervals  I  comforted  Hugh,  and  beat  off^ 
Strangways.  and  sat  rigiay  still  while  S^  ^^ 

,>^;ir  ^u^'*^*'^^-  Afraid  of  him  as  I  wal 
It  fflted  me  with  grim  inwani  amusement  to  Zo^  ^ 
he  was  equally  afraid  of  me.^  He  came  into  Zlb^ 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

from  time  to  time,  when  he  happened  to  be  at  his  houae, 
and  like  Mrs.  BrokenAiie  gave  me  the  impmsion  that 
the  frustration  of  their  love  was  my  fault.  As  I  sat  primly 
and  severely  at  my  desk,  and  he  stalked  round  and  iDund 
the  room,  stabbing  the  old  genUeman  who  classified  prints 
and  the  lady  who  collated  the  early  editions  of  Shakespeare 
with  contemptuous  glances,  I  knew  that  in  his  sight  I 
represented— poor  me  I— that  virtuous  respectability  the 
sinner  always  holds  in  scorn.  He  could  not  be  ignorant 
of  the  fact  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  Mre.  Brokenshire 
would  have  been  meeting  him  elsewhere,  and  so  he  held 
me  as  an  enemy.  Had  he  not  known  that  I  was  something 
besides  an  enemy  he  would  doubtless  have  sent  me  about 
my  business. 

In  one  of  the  intervals  of  this  portion  of  the  drama  I 
received  a  visit  that  took  me  by  surprise.  Early  in  the 
afternoon  of  a  day  in  March,  Mrs.  Billing  trotted  into  the 
library,  foUowed  by  Lady  Cecilia  Boscobel.  It  was  the 
sort  of  occasion  on  which  I  should  have  been  nervous 
enough  in  any  case,  but  it  became  terrifying  when  Mrs. 
Billing  marched  up  to  my  desk  and  pointed  at  me  with 
her  lorgnette,  saying  over  her  shoulder,  "There  she  is," 
as  though  I  was  a  portrait. 

I  struggled  to  my  feet  with  what  was  meant  to  be  a 
smile. 

"Lady  CedUa  Boscobel,"  I  stammered,  "has  seen  me 
already." 
"Well,  she  can  look  at  you  again,  can't  she?" 
The  English  girl  came  to  my  rescue  by  smiling  back, 
aiid  murmuring  a  faint  "How  do  you  do?"    She  eased  the 
situation  further  by  saying,  with  a  crisp,  rapid  articula- 
tion, in  which  every  syllable  was  charmingly  distinct: 
"Mrs.  Billing  thought  that  as  we  were  out  sight-seeing  we 
348 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


It's  shown  e\-ery  day,  isn't 


•n^t  M  wen  look  at  this 
It?" 

only  •'on'^*^^:^^'  -^en  p,a«s  we«  shown 
Other's  pSTzm^^iLT  so  tm«ome.  One  of  her 
old  Tudc^Se.^^,^' '"  Nottingh,n«*i„,.  an 
public  only  on  ^^i^To^^'^T^^'^'^' 
even  the  family  couldn't  r«««:iZ^  Wednesdays,  and 

and  have  tourists  s^;°,t"^;:::f  ^°" '^-. —«e. 

b«ath.  While  £.  £g  t'uSL  T  "'  '°  '"'  "^ 
room  with  which  she  mt^f  hZ      her  lorgnette  on  the 

^-wastobeanXlL'^alS?^,^'??"^-.   « 
and  me  I  gathered  that  .»,»    '^J;  oetween  Lady  Cissie 

feminine  JvJZ  t^Tf  V^^"  *°  P^">- 
smaU  hat  of  the  sLe  JzT^  ^  ^^  S"^-  ^^th  a 
air  of  being  tie  aZLS^filTJ^'"^'^'  ^^  "^  "^at 
of  her  voii  ann^St^  ^  tl'h^''^  *"/  *°"« 
the  thought  that  W„„t,        JTt'        ^  heart  grew  fa^nt  at 

«W.  so^Sl^S  h^i^d^mt^  '°  '^'^'^  ^^--  ^ 

stn-Uedoffto^r^h.^SSn*^''^?^-  =^ 

so  as  toSyX  d.^..^  ,'°°^  °'^  ^"^  "^^ed  old- 
old.  wheTra'^^'jf^P^y^^ees  that  go  with  being 

n<««daysisy^  °"^  ^^  "^  '^y  ^^Y.  whic^ 
"You're  English,  aren't  you?"  Ladv  n«,-j;,  t^ 

soon  as  we  were  alone.    "loTteU  Wk  "^^  ^ 

I  said  I  was  ft  ro„.j-     T^'*"hy  the  way  you  speak." 

s«a  I  was  a  Canadian.^that  I  was  in  New  Yorkm^ 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

wtoB  by  .cddent,  Md  might  go  bMk  to  my  own  country 
.  ...""*'  interertingl    It  bdongi  to  ui,  Cuiadia,  doen't 

rJ^*t  «I|«WyJ««ic  emphMi.  on  the  prxjper  noun  I 
rephed  that  Canadia  natur«Uy  belonged  to  the  Canadians, 
^t  that  the  King  of  Gr*at  Britain  and  I«l«n7W^ 
long,  and  that  we  were  very  loyal  to  all  that  we 
represented. 

"Fancy!    And  isn't  it  near  here?" 

All  of  Canada,  I  stated,  was  north  of  some  of  the  United 
States,  and  some  of  it  was  south  of  others  of  the  United 
States  but  none  of  the  more  settled  parts  was  difficult  of 
access  from  New  York. 

.  ''^'^'^'^'^■"^^•'iwoomfflent  on  these  geograoh- 
ical  indications.  "I  think  I  i«nember  that  a  w^  of 
ours  was  governor  out  there-or  something-though  ner- 
haps  it  was  in  India."  ^^    "'"ugaper 

I  named  the  series  of  British  noblemen  who  had  ruled 
over  us  since  the  confederation  of  the  provinces  in  1867, 
but  as  Lady  Cecilia's  kinsman  was  not  among  them  yn 
concluded  that  he  must  have  been  Ticeioy  of  India  or 
Governor-General  of  Australia. 

I  ?^'  *^  ^""^^  *°  introduce  us  to  each  other,  and 
lasted  while  Mrs.  Billing's  tour  of  inspection  kepi  her 
within  earshot.  *'-  "« 

I  am  bound  to  admit  that  I  admired  Lady  Cecilia  with 
an  envy  that  might  be  qualified  as  green.  She  was  not 
clever  and  she  was  not  well  educated,  but  her  high  br«d- 
ing  was  so  spontaneous.  She  so  obviously  belonged  to 
spheres  where  no  other  rule  obtained.  Her  mamier  was 
the  union  of  pohsh  and  simplicity;  each  word  she  pro- 
nounced was  a  pleasure  to  the  ear.  In  my  own  case  life 
350 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

engaged  to  him,  buTllS  S^  I  ^  '^  "°*  P^'^J' 
either  of  two  co^ditiLt  ^6^ ^1^7  "?  " 
to  state  what  th™*  /v«,j-»-  '-amea  out.    I  went  on 

fannatioTSlt^^e^T^^'^.^f^^'^'l'  ">e  i„- 
She  nodded  hit;^^eS"^"=^^^'-'^'^-- 
•'N^'7  *^'''r;"«'  th^'y  '^on't  come  n«nd." 

coJlndiSSauT^n^oi:;^^^;  .  "**^  '^ 
-diUon  I nT^Jp^,,«-^i^  ..It's  the  other 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  bad  a  sudden  suspicion. 
"Wrong  about  what?" 
The  question  put  Lady  Cecilia  on  her  guard. 
"Oh,  nothing  I  need  explain."    But  her  face  lighted 
with  quick  enthusiasm.    "I  call  it  magnificent." 
"Call  what  'magnificent'?" 

"Why,  that  you  should  have  that  conviction.    When 
one  sees  any  one  so  sporting — " 
I  began  to  get  her  idea. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  sporting.    I'm  a  perfect  coward.    But  a 
sheep  will  make  a  stand  when  it's  put  to  it." 

With  her  hands  in  her  sable  muff,  her  shapely  figure  was 
inclined  slightly  toward  me. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  a  sheep  that  makes  a  stand  isn't 
braver  than  a  lion.    The  man  my  sister  Janet  is  engaged 
to-^ie's  in  the  Inverness  Rangers— often  says  that  no 
one  could  be  funkier  than  he  on  going  into  action;  but 
that,"  she  continued,  her  face  aglow,  "didn't  prevent  his 
being  ever  so  many  times  mentioned  in  despatches  and 
Getting  his  D.  S.  O." 
"Please  don't  put  me  into  that  class— " 
"No;  I  won't.    After  all,  a  soldier  couldn't  really  funk 
things,  because  he's  got  everything  to  back  him  up.    But 
you  haven't.    And  when  I  think  of  you  sitting  here  all  by 
yourself,  and  expecting  that  great  big  rich  Mr.  Broken- 
shure  and  Ethel,  and  all  of  them,  to  come  to  your  terms—" 
To  get  away  from  a  view  of  my  situation  that  both  con- 
soled and  embarrassed  me,  I  said : 

"Th^  you,  Lady  CedKa,  very,  very  much;  but  it 
isn't  what  you  meant  to  say  when  you  began,  is  it?" 
With  some  confusion  she  admitted  that  it  wasn't. 
"Only,"  she  went  on,  "that  isn't  worth  while  now." 
A  hint  in  her  tone  impelled  me  to  insist. 
353 


THE  HIGH  HEART 
^Itmaybe.    You  don't  know.    Please  tdl  me  what  it 

What  makes  you  so  sure  she  was  wrong?" 

"sSTZ  \T:u  ^  "^  '^■"    S''^  ^^«1-  reluctantly. 
^E^  thought  th««  was  some  one-^«me  one  besite 

"And  what  if  there  was?" 

I  don  t  beh^  ^  people  making  each  other  anymore 
^^  than  they  can  help,  do  you?"  She  had  a  habit 
^«mg  up  her  small  grBy-g,««  eyes  into  two  glim. 
««mg  htae  shts  of  hght,  with  an  effect  of  shyness  sW 

^t^  7"'^**"'*'''^'^-  'We're both giris. 
n*  T/J?  ^^'  '^^  y°"  '^'^  be  much  S 
^d  so  I  tiKn^t-that  is.  I  thought  at  first-that  if  S 
^anyone  else  in  mind,  there'd  be  no  use  in  ourmafi 
eat^o^ermiserable-butlsee  you  haven't;  and^-^ 
th«  t^f.""'^  I  Jaughed,  nervously,  "the  race  must  be  to 
the  swift  and  the  batUe  to  the  strong.  Is  that  itr 
ri„i_!?'  °°*  ^y-  What  I  was  going  to  say  is  that 
smce-«nce  there's  nobody  but  Hugh-you  won't  to 
offended  with  me.  will  you'-I  won't  Step  in-" 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  enthusiastic. 

"But  that's  what  I  caU  sporting!" 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't.  I  haven't  seen  Hugh  for  two  or  th«e 
years,  and  whatever  Uttle  thing  there  was-" 

I  stomed  forward  across  my  desk.  I  know  my  eve. 
must  have  been  enonnous.  '^  ow  my  eyes 

"But  was  there— was  there  evej--anything?" 
Oh  no;  not  at  all.    He-he  never  noticed  me.    I  was 
only  m  the  school-room.  a«d  he  was  a  grown-up  y^ 


THE   hlGH   HEART 

nm.  H  his  father  and  nune  hadn't  been  great  friemfc- 
and  got  plans  into  their  head^Laura  and  Janet  used  to 
poteftm  at  me  about  it.  And  then  we  «xle  together  and 
played  te^  and  golf,  and  so-but  it  was  aU-^t 
nothing.  You  know  how  silly  a  girl  of  seventeen  c^ 
It  was  nonsense     I  only  want  you  to  know.in  case  he  ever 

so  httl^I  only  want  you  to  know  that  th.u  ::  the  way  I 
feel  about  it-^d  that  I  didn't  come  over  i.e:^  to-  I 
don  t  say  that  if  in  your  case  there  had  beer  any  one  else 
-but  I  see  there  isn't-Ethel  Rossiter  is  vvr<.ng-^d  so 
rf  I  can  do  anything  for  Hugh  and  youi.di  with  the 
Br^enshires,  I-I  want  you  to  make  use  of  ir,c 

With  a  dignity  oddly  in  contrast  to  tlii.  .tammerinK 
confe^on,  which  was  what  it  was,  she  rose  to  her  feeVa! 
Mrs.  BiUing  came  back  to  us. 

Thehook-nosed  face  was  somber.    Curiosit  v  a.  to  other 
people  s  busmess  had  for  once  given  place  in  tl-e  old  lady's 
thoughts  to  meditations  that  turned  inward.     T  suppwe 
Oiat  m  some  perverse  fashion  of  her  own    'i ,  lo.ed  her 
daughto-,  and  suffered  from  her  unhappine:        Ti.ere  was 
enough  m  this  room  to  prove  to  her  how  srud;  v  mere  self- 
seelong  can  overreach  itself  and  ruin  what  it  vi.,  to  build 
WeU.  what  are  you  talking  about.?"  she  .r.apped  as 
she  approached  us.     "Hugh  Brokenshire,  I'U  I^t  a^  " 
Fancy!    was  the  stroke  with  which  the  English  girl 
Bmilmg  dimly,  endeavored  to  counter  this  attack  ' 

^Mi^Billing  hardly  paused  as  she  made  her  way  toward 

•'Don't  let  her  have  him,"  she  threw  at  Lady  Ceciha. 

He  s  not  good  enough  for  her.    She's  my  kind, "  .he  went 

on,  poking  at  me  with  her  loi^gnette.     "Need,  a  man  with 

brains.    Come  along,  Cissie.    Don't  mind  what  she  says 

aS4 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

You  grab  Hu^  the  first  chance  you  get.  Shell  have 
b.^  fish  to  fry.    Do  come  along.    We've  had  eno^ 

iJf^^  ^^^  "^^  ^  ^°°^  ^"'^  '^th  *e  over-acted  list- 
lessness  of  two  daughters  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  tiyinit 
to  carry  off  an  emotional  crisis  as  if  they  didn't  know  whrt 

1  '°^*"  .  ^"*  "^^  ^^  ^  8one  I  thought  of  her-I 
thought  of  her  with  her  Limoges^namel  coloring,  her 
lusaous  Enghsh  voice,  her  English  air  of  race,  her  dignity 
her  style,  her  youth,  her  naivete,  her  combination  of  di 
the  quahtaes  that  make  human  beings  distinguished  b<s 
cause  there  is  nothing  else  for  them  to  be.    I  drakged 
mysdf  to  the  Venetian  mirror  and  looked  into  it.    With 
Jny  plain  gray  frock,  my  dark  complexion,  and  my  simply 
arranged  hair,  I  was  a  poor  little  frump  whom  not  even  tte 
one  man  in  five  hundred  could  find  attractive.    I  wondered 
how  Hugh  could  be  such  a  fool.    laskedmyself  if  hecodM 
go  on  bemg  such  a  fool  much  longer.  And  with  the  thourfit 
that  he  would-^d  again  with  the  thought  that  he 
wouldn  t— I  surprised  myself  by  bursting  into  tears 


CHAPTER  XVII 
outnted  to  say  "Sl^^S?  "5^  '  P«.  k«  <«. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

™wii  1  ijneA  that  his  smaU  inherited  capital  was 

SSri^,?  t^^r*"  'l"«*"P""g  itself  thr^h  aT 
^*Jon  w^th  Stecy  Grainger's  enterprises.  ^  s^ 
G«tng«  hiniself  he  ««itinued  to  feel  an  admimtion^ 

S^J^TsT^'  ''^  '^^^  "  -^"^  '^  '-^-o 

Of  Mrs^Brokenshire  I  was  seeing  less.  Either  she  had 
^  ^  to  domg  without  her  lover  or  she  was  meeting 
him  in  some  other  way.  She  stiU  came  to  see  me  as  often 
ae'Tehtr'''  ?!*«—*  -«notional or exdteHe 
^  TtL  Z^-°"^  affectionate  than  before,  and 
^jas  with  a  dignity  that  graduaUy  put  me  at  a 

ni!!^     ^*  ""  *^^  company  of  Mre.  Rossiter.    That 
happened  when  once  or  twice  I  went  to  the  house  to^ 

f™       T  "^^7^  ^^"S  ^  <»W=.  or  when  S 
fonner  employer  drove  me  round  the  Park.    Just  Tn^I 

^mej,portunity  to  hint  that  Lady  Cissie  hadn't  ^ 
Hugh  &om  me  as  yet,  to  which  Mrs.  Rossiter  replied^ 
that  was  obviously  because  she  didn't  want  him 
.1  Z"  ^J^'  therefore,  at  a  standstiM,  or  moving  so 
slowly  that  I  couldn't  perceive  that  we  we^;  moZT^!^ 

^ys  at  tte  oth^  end.  sin<«  he  used  any  and  every  ^ 

Sw^'?^°^''^^*°^-     Hepl^-gedintotC 
v^  any  of  the  usud  moming  greetings  <^relimin^ 

^^J^  you  game  to  go  to  Boston  by  the  fiveK,'dock  bain 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

«npS^'  said.  .'Wh.tr  but  I  said  it  with  ««, 

"Why  should  I  be?" 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  before  replyis 
Youd  know  that."  he  <!ai(1  of  i.^v""^.    i. 
the  train."  ne  said  at  last,    when  you  got  on 

;;is  it  a  joke?"  I  inqui^,  ^^^  ^  jj^^^ , 

iJt^ZZ^J?-    '''  -^--    ^  -°t  3^  to 
"But  what  for?" 

tnZX  W.Tvc^T;^'"^""  '^^  "''-  y-  ^°t  -  the 
ulY  ^       ^  2°°®  ■^'^O'  far." 

And  do  you  think  that's  information  enough?" 
It  will  be  mformation  enough  for  you  when  I  sav 

thatag^tdealmaydependonyourdofngasTSc"  ^ 
I  raised  a  new  objection.  si^oiasjc. 

^^^What  shall  I  do  when  I  get  to  Boston?    Whe^  shall 
voZ^'^-r-."^""'"  '"°''-    Y°"'"  h^ve  to  act  for 

258 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

MI  can  say  is  that  whatever  happens  you'U  be  needed 
and  If  you  re  needed  youTl  be  able  to  play  the  game  "' 

He  went  on  with  further  directions.  It  would  be  pos- 
sible to  take  my  seat  in  the  train  at  twenty  nunutes  before 
the  hour  of  departure.  I  was  to  be  early  on  the  spot  so  as 
to  be  aniong  the  first  to  be  in  my  place.  I  was  to  take 
noaung  but  a  suit-case;  but  I  was  to  put  into  it  enough  to 
last  me  for  a  week,  or  even  for  a  week  or  two.  I  was  to 
be  iM^aixd  for  roughing  it.  if  necessary,  or  for  anything 
else  that  ,U, -sloped.  He  would  send  me  my  ticket  within 
an  hour  a-,.l  provide  me  with  plenty  of  money 

"But  «•;.:•,  is  it?"  I  implored  again.    "It  sounds  like 

spying,  or  i:.-..  secret  service,  or  sometijing  mdodramatia" 

Its   thv;..  of  those  things.    Just  be  ready.    Wait 

.fw-r"  ■''''''  '■'^  ^'^  ^*  y°^  ^'^^^  and  the  money." 
Will  you  liring  them  yourself.'" 

"No.  I  c-.in't;  I'm  too  busy.  I'm  calling  from  a  pay- 
station.  r)..:,'t  ring  me  up  for  any  more  questions.  Just 
00  as  1  ve  :  :.  d  you,  and  I  know  you'll  not  regret  it— not 
aslonga5\  jilive." 

_  He  put  u;.  the  receiver,  leaving  me  bewildered.  My 
Ignorance  v  .,s  such  that  speculation  was  shut  out.  I  kept 
saying  to  n.vsolf:  "It  must  be  this,  "or.  "  It  must  be  that  " 
but  with  , ..  conviction  in  my  guesses.  One  dreadful 
suspicion  cri; ;  :o  to  me.  but  I  firmly  put  it  away. 

A  httle  ai  •  >  r  twelve  a  special  messenger  arrived,  bringine 
my  ticket  r.   !  five  hundred  dollars  in  bank-notes.     I  teew 
then  that  i  -.ras  in  for  a  genuine  adventure.    At  one  I  put ' 
on  my  hat  a  :d  coat,  locked  the  door  behind  me,  and  went 
off  to  my  hotel.     Mentally  I  was  leaving  a  work  to  whid, 
from  certain  points  of  view,  I  was  sorry  to  say  good-by.  but 
1  could  afford  no  backward  looks. 
At  the  hotel  I  packed  my  belongings  and  left  tham  so 
2S9 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


Marie  Aatoinet^r Ko™  TT.?'^^^-««J 
tten  never  to  see  ttitZ?*  "*  ^T°"*'  "«»»  «* 
been  digged  over  hTth^uWe^^^  ^p*^  ^^'^  '«<' 
««mIhadnop«visiona,to^f:Vl^^"r^-  Like 
was  to  become  of  me.  I ZZ  Tl  .'^.  ^°"^  **  "'^t 
•  kind  of  glory  «  the  fact-^^tr '  "~^°^'^'y'  "^  '^^ 
La«y  Strangways  to  X^^"L^.  "^  «°*"»  at  the  caU  of 

"""Id.  In  as  far  as  ^^  i  ^  ^^^^  *»  put  out  of  mv 
«P««itmt«i^p^^„7 J"^,*)  ^  ^'^  «y  best  t^ 
ofamysteriousn«na^^'!r"^"^°°t«tbe  heroine 

•nd  unafraid.  I  S^7^T'**«'*''^*°^t«. 
««ither  «P-to^te^^ '  """^^  ^^^id,  and  I  wai 
t^  »e'^?i^Ptlt  but  the  fiction  Z 
to  Hugh.  '^'^"y*™^  and  sent  a  telegram 

•^StLSt^^-^-^'- too  late  for  him  to 

ar^£::'''^S[^°^^Iwrx^.    "Mayleadto 

Saving  sent  this  cSarhSf^TLr^ri*'  '^''''■" 
the  station.  '^'^  ^°^'  ^  took  a  taric^  fca- 

^^a^S^^^-'^^-t^c-sfunytha, 
WM  the  first  to WtH^J!  r^?*P  *°  I«^e  me,  I 
the  first  to  takeTy  ^t  rSef^  *°  ">e  train,  and 
My  ehair  wa.  two X^l  ^  °°^'  "^^'^  parlor-car. 
'^t.    OncHr^^^^^'^.f^theentr^rceand 

360 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


But  I  watched  fa  v«m.    Pop  >  ♦;—  t 
«Vt«««.t.  empty  ^  cT^*^  '  ^J^^f^^ 

porter,  M  ]ike  to  my  own  „  <»eStr«.,S!^  ~^ 
fin«  W»  way  fa.  dnggkJy^Zn^A  T^'  ""^  ^- 
•nd followed tJ^oRZ^  ^ ^^.  ^P^linient.. 
PorterfastaUed'TcSL'^^^^S,'^;-    '^'*'*^ 

^^Z  of  wtL'^^HeS'  ^  *S5  S,""^ 
injunctions  as  to  conduct    «nM^  f'..^  '"**«•  *°* 

a^yo^-mT  -"-^«-^^J 

one  loold^Jt?,2,£^57^^P-««^^  type.    ^"^ 
w»s  not  promismg.  *  '"^^'^y  **»  '»«**i«l 

ottt  of  the  station  a  shadow  p3^!l*^r*l!!"  '^'^ 
that  of  Larry  Sbangwa^  H?^r  ^*^  ^  ^lew  to  be 
cJunUng^erttT^S  "™*°°  t"  the  fourth  seat, 
'^n'nd  i^dT^l^  at  if ''  S''*;  ^^  '^ed  it.  turned 

no  sign  of  SS£rbeySi?^^KL'"^ 
understood  then  that  I  wJnntfr^Z^-     .^*  ''**^-    ^ 

mthe  adventure.  W-Tit  "t^e^^^  v:^^'.^' 
strangers.  vu»ucu  oui,  we  were  to  be  as 

One  more  thmg  I  saw.    He  had  never  he^  «,      , 

gnm  or  detennined  in  aU  the  ttae  iTS  S^.^^  T 

had  hardly  supposed  that  it  was  in  £  to  rso^' 

nuned.  so  gnm,  or  so  pale.    I  Pather«lT=ri,  ^^' 

our  mission  more  to  heart  thaf  I  h^      *  ^^.^  ^'^K 

Pnxnpt  fa  action  as  iSd^  ^""""^^'^^  *^*- 
«s     naa  teen,  I  was  considering  it  toa 

SOI 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

«Bpp«ntIy.  Inwardly  I  prayed  for  nave  to  wpporf  him 
*nd  for  that  piwenoe  of  mind  which  would  teU  mewhat  ui 
do  when  there  was  anything  to  be  done. 

<^Z^t^  'i  ^^'^'^  my  zeal  that  he  wa.  so  hwidsome. 
Straight  and  slun  and  upright,  his  features  were  of  that 
leaa.  Wond.  regular  type  I  used  to  consider  Anglo-Saxon 
but  which,  now  that  I  have  seen  it  in  so  many  Scandinal 
vjans.  I  have  come  to  ascribe  to  the  Norse  strain  in  our 
Wood.  The  eyes  were  direct;  the  chin  was  fiim:  the 
nose  as  straight  as  an  ancient  Greek's.  The  relatively 
anaU  mouth  was  adorned  by  a  relatively  small  mustache, 
twisted  up  at  the  ends,  of  the  color  of  the  coffee-bean,  and. 
to  my  adminng  feminine  appreciation,  blooming  on  hia 
face  like  a  flower. 

His  neat  spring  suit  was  also  of  the  color  of  the  coffee, 
bean,  and  so  was  his  soft  felt  hat.  In  his  shirt  there  weni 
hnes  of  tan  and  violet,  and  tan  and  violet  appeared  in  the 
tie  beneath  which  a  soft  collar  was  pinned  with  a  Rdd 
safety  pin.  The  yeUow  gloves  that  men  have  affected  of 
late  years  gave  a  pleasant  finish  to  this  costume,  which 
was  quite  complete  when  he  pulled  from  his  bag  an  Eng- 
Wi  traveling-cap  of  several  shades  of  tan  and  put  it  on 
He  also  took  out  a  book,  stretching  himself  in  his  chair  in 
such  a  way  that  the  English  traveUng-cap  was  all  I  could 
henceforth  see  of  his  personality. 

I  give  these  detaUs  because  they  entered  into  the  mingled 
unwilhngness  and  zest  with  which  I  fouru!  myself  dragged 
on  an  errand  to  which  I  had  no  due.  StJl  less  had  I  a  due 
when  the  train  began  to  move,  and  I  had  nothing  but  the 
pT  t  .'  f "^""^  travding-cap  to  bear  me  company. 
But  no,  I  had  one  other  detoU.  Before  sitting  down  Mr. 
^trangways  had  carefully  separated  his  own  hand-luggage 
irom  that  of  the  person  who  would  be  behind  hin-.,  and 
262 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

*Wch  faduded  .n  «Lrter.  «  wtUdng-rtick.  and  a  cMe  of 
C^ub..  I  inferred,  therrfore.  that  the  wayfarer  who 
owned  one  of  the  two  chairs  between  Mr.  Stranewavi  and 
my«If««tbean»n.  Il«  chair  direc^TZtcS 
mine  remained  empty.  ""i.  « 

As  we  passed  mto  the  tunnel  my  mind  lashed  wildly 
about  m  search  of  eicplanations,  the  only  one  I  could  find  '^ 
being  that  Larry  Strangways  was  kidnapping  me.    On 
arriving  m  Boston  I  might  find  myself  confronted  by  a 
niamagehcenseandacleigyman.    If  so.  I  «ad  to  myifi. 
with  an  Mtraordmary  thriU.  there  would  be  nothing  fa? 
it  but  submission  to  this/<,r«  majeure,  though  I  had  to 
admit  that  the  averted  head,  the  English  traveling-cap. 
and  the  mtervemng  ulster,  walking-stick,  and  golf-club, 
worked  against  my  theory.    I  was  dreaming  in  this  way 
when  the  teain  emerged  from  the  tunnel  and  stopped  » 
bnefly  at  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street  thatcon- 
Bdenng  it  afterward,  I  concluded  that  the  pause  had  been 
wrangedfor.    It  was  just  long  enough  for  an  odd  Uttle 

bundle  of  womanhood  to  be  pulled  and  shoved  on  the  car 
and  thrown  mto  the  seat  immediately  in  front  of  mine. 
I^oose  my  verbs  with  care,  since  they  give  the  efiect 
^uced  on  me     The  Uttle  woman,  who  was  swathed  in 

Uack  veils  and  dad  w  a  long  black  shapeless  coat,  seemed 
not  to  act  of  her  own  voUtion  and  to  be  more  dead  than 
aJive.  The  porter  who  had  brought  her  in  flung  down  her 
two  or  three  bags  and  waited,  significantly,  though  the 
tram  was  abeady  creeping  its  way  onward.  She  was 
plainly  unused  to  fending  for  herself,  and  only  when  as  a 
iwmnder,  the  man  had  toudied  his  hat  a  second  time  did  it 
occur  to  her  what  she  had  to  do.  Hastily  unfastening  a 
smaU  bag,  she  pulled  out  a  handful  of  money  and  thrust  it 
at  hun.    The  man  grinned  and  was  gone,  after  which  she 

18  263 


MiaoCOfY  RISOIUTION  TtSI  CHART 

(ANSI  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


_A  APPLIED  IM/C3F 

■='-  '6M   Eajl   Main  Strwl 

^•^S  ( ' '  6)   *82  -  03CW  -  Phone 

:^^  (716)   288 -5969 -fax 


THEjHIGH  HEART 


fitting  hat  and  the  folds  of  ^  JoL  w  7^  "^"^ 
easiest  inference  was  tSt  if  .'ong  black  coat.  The 
thing  whomTeTr^^ljS^""^''*  be  some  poor  old 
was,  I  think  L^„  r-  ^"°^  to  be  rid  of,  which 
Speir?n^„l^°''7^-°t^  --  nrighbors  drew. 

-yshadnottS'Ltr"""*^"'^^*-^- 

later,  the  tid^W  '^  ''''^-  «»°«  J^-hcmr 

O^^i^^f^  ^f^  ^"''^J'  ^°^  the  aisle. 
Sr.^rf^*  ^i^f-f «»,«  advance,  but  t!^ 
-«>&wrilTerle":^--S«-t 

rlSrt*--^^eS^.^^^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

youth  of  the  cheap  sporting  type  and  I  went  after  the  oo&s. 
Since  I  was  a  young  woman  and  the  lady  with  her  head  in 

abag  nught  be  taken  for  an  old  one,  I  had  no  diffic^ty  S 
securmg  his  harvest,  which  he  handed  over  to  me  ^^^ 

m^batmg^.    Returning  the  leer  as  much  in  ^o^ 
copper  to  Its  owner.    To  do  this  I  stood  as  directly  as 

S  .    r  ^"*.°i  '•^'  "^  ''^^'  inadvertently.  Shi 
raised  her  head  I  tried  to  look  her  in  the  eyes 

B„f  trr  ^  "^^  °^«''*  '^^^  '^  ^y  °ne's  eyes. 
But  m  the  motion  of  the  hand  that  took  the  money 
and  m  the  silvery  tinkle  of  the  voice  that  mad"S 
1°^  «  ix^sible  in  munnuring  the  words.  "Thank 
you!  I  couldnt  be  mistaken.  It  was  enough.  If  J 
hadat  seen  her  she  at  least  had  seen  me.  and  L  I  went 
back  to  my  seat. 

I  had  got  the  fct  part  of  my  revelation.  With  the  aid 
of  the  ulster,  the  walking-stick,  and  the  golf-dubs  I  could 
g^at  the  n.t  I  knew  now  why  iLy  S^^ 
want«i  me  there,  but  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  to  do  By 
myself  I  could  do  nothing.  Unless  the  Httle  begum  took 
tiie  initiative  I  shouldn't  know  where  to  begin.TcoZ 

oo^^take  ,t  for  granted  that  she  was  not  on  legiti^te 

But  she  had  seen  me,  and  there  was  something  in  that. ' 
If  the  owMT  of  the  vacant  chair  turned  up  he.  too,  would 
see  me,  and  he  wouldn't  wear  a  veil.  We  should  look  each 
other  mtte  eyes,  and  he  would  know  that  I  knew  what  he 
w^  about  to  do  The  situation  would  not  be  pleasant  for 
me.  tot  It  would  conceivably  be  much  less  pleasant  for 
"HyDuQy  clsc* 

a6$ 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

tJ^Si^'^^^*^^  the  beautiful  g«ea  coma. 
«wr  fho^^^   ^"    ^^  ^°^°8  freshness  Of  sprine  was 

th^lf  *^^  ^'^  ^*°P^  ^*  New  Haven  I  was  afraid 
that  the  owner  of  the  ulster  an,1  ti,«      ir   .T^ 
aonear  an^  *u  *  .  **  *°®  golf-dubs  would 

thP  tin!  °         r       •  *^^  passengers  began  to  thin  out  as 
the  tmie  came  for  going  to  the  dining-car.    In  the  ^l^ 

-  eSt.^"^  ^^  *^^  ^^^'^  ^-veUng-cap 

bunushed  line'of  t,:^!^.^ ^S^ ^^l'^^^' 
n-be  out  a  sprinkling  of  wa;  yell^SJ    ^^tZ" 

.  and  what  a  few  nunutes  earlier  had  been  tmli»>,f  k1 
qmcHy  the  night.    It  ^  the  wistM^Tl^r^f  hlS^ 
heart-searching  time.    If  the  little  ladv  in  fronTl? 
we  to  have  qualms  as  to  w'-at  sht\^^  •    ^  """ 

come  then.     ^  ^ '^° '"'^'^  ^^ '^  ^omg  they  would 

And  indeed  as  I  watched  her  it  seemed  to  me  fh.t- 

S.rTto'"  ^''"^"^^  underr:i^,r«^! 

«8.^  as  if  to  wipe  away  a  tear.    ftesenUy  she  lifted 

30u 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

t^  unsteady  hands  and  began  to  untie  her  outer  vefl 
When  ,t  came  to  finding  the  pins  by  which  it  7j^. 

Wiif,  ^'  "T*^""*  """^S  round  to  where  I  should 
have  been  obhged  to  look  her  in  the  face;  and  it  w^so 
When_  r  helped  her  take  off  the  veil  underneath 

I  m  smothering."  she  said,  very  much  as  it  might  hive 

been  said  by  a  httle  child  in  distress  K».nive 

aie  wore  still  another  veU.  but  only  that  w  •  . 

bnghtly  hghted  and  most  of  our  fellow-travders  ha^ 
gone  to  dmner,  she  probably  thought  she  had  little  to  f^ 
As  she  gave  no  sign  of  recognition  on  my  rendering  my 
smaU  services  I  subsided  again  into  my  ch4  ^ 

But  I  knew  she  was  as  conscious  of  mv  oresenrv  n=  r 
V- of  hers.  It  was  not  whoUy  suiprisi^g  Jh^",?^^^, 
.v^ty  minutes  later  she  should  swing  round  in  the  ^.. 
mg^haiv  and  drop  aJl  disguises.  She  did  it  wittT^a 
words,  tearfully  yet  angrily  spoken: 

'What  are  you  doing  here?" 

m^£  ^V°  ^T"-  u^'"-  B^kenshir^."  I  x«pHed, 
meekly.       Are  you  doing  the  same  ?" 

on  'I^  '^°"'  ""^^  ''"^  ''"^S.  and  youVe  come  to  spy 

There  is  something  about  the  wrath  of  the  sweet,  mUd  , 

Z.^t'    i5'*^'^^'^^°'^»tnow,butnotsomuchthatr 

couldn't  outwardly  keep  my  composure.  "''''^^^^ 

It  I  know  what  you're  doing.  Mre.  Brokenshire  "  I 

loreuand.    I  didn  t  know  you  were  to  be  on  this  train  tiU 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

ZnV/'  "'  ^  '--°'*  »-«  -«  it  wa,  yo«  till  this 

"»-J^  f  if  ^*  to  do  as  I  please."  she  dedared.  hoa«elv 
wthout  having  people  to  dog  me."       ^^  coarsely, 

leave?    If  I  m  here  th  s  evenine  and  v™,'~  uIL  .      ?f 
«me  deepemng  of  the  tone,  and  speaking  do^tl^, 

'What  do  you  mean  ?" 
..  t!Z     Vf*  y°"  "*  «^°^S  to  stop  me-" 

By  a  singular  set  of  cir!^ta^c2  S  ^t^^" 
by  side  on  the  same  tmin.  wLTcTrsT^''-'' 
the  situation  than  that?"  '°°"  "* 

"You  do  see  more." 

-  ^'•/°'  *  "^""t^- 1  n^de  no  reply. 
That  hurts  me."  I  said  ^at  j^^.  ;.b„,  j  j,^^^  ^^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


w*en  you've  considered   it  ytw'il  see  th«f        -      . 
unjust  to  me."  o-"""  see  that  you've  been 

"You've suspected meeversincelknew you  " 

y««elf-    I've  ne^  sSTLS^  ^^  ^^^^  i" 

thought  anything.^tTitl'SHVn^'  "^  ™^ 
months  ago,  that  yo^s^r  J^l^-  ^«>''«»«Wre  two 

-made.    ThatZralrhXTSlS^^ 
your  chamcter  stritpc  ^^      ."  "^  up  to  the  beautv  of 

"I  wasn't  a^^*°S^'?^*-r^Wething^.. 
iif.^ddoone's^t^nve^;^^'?!'-  standa«t  of 

<.tHJtS::^'  I^'^^t'Sd^-^*"  ^-  -'»- 

women Itoowr  ^*^*^*  Pyi».  and  a  lot  of 

P««»»caabemoreboSd^frii?ir°^'  ^°  °"^ 
y«t  when  it  comes  toXae  w^  f  -^^  ^°*'*:  «"d 
'^^f-youthan^''^^.'^  ^.^^^ybem.. 

..  l^i  »e  why  it  should  be." 

and  neither  have  I     if^^'  ^-  ^«  ^^^^n't, 

circles  have  to  wJ^f^f  "'Jyo- own  htUe 
limited;  but  if  v™?^„^     '■  ^**  *^^  ^^^w  we  can  do  is 

•■I  -?iy7rt°s3t  "'"^  ^^  -"^^  --*^•" 

-ti^^S^tiSl-^  ^  "^  ^"^  ^^^  be  caUed  a 
"There  a.^  just  as  impor^t  men  in  the  country  as  he." 


THE   HIOH   HEART 

Think  of  what  it  means  to  be  one  of  the  hundred  most 

mM^°^r"*"  "Tv*^  *  population  of  a  hundred 
nuUions.    The  responsibility  must  be  tremendous." 

Ive  never  thought  of  myself  as  having  any  particular 
responsibihtj^-not  any  mere  than  anybody  else  "         - 

But,  of  course,  you  have.    Whatever  you  do  gets  an 

SSnT^"^^  **  ^^  *^**  y°»'«  Mrs.  Howard 
Biokenshire     When,  for  example,  you  came  to  me  that 

SL^J^',  ?^  ^*  N""!^-  y"^  ^""^^  was  the 

ym  were.    We  ^'t  get  away  from  those  considerations, 
men  you  do  nght,  right  seems  somehow  to  be  made  more 
beautiful;  and  when  you  do  wrong—" 
^^I  don't  thirJc  it's  fair  to  put  me  in  a  position  like 

"I  don't  put  you  in  that  position.    Life  does  it.    You 
wwebOTntobehighup.    When  you  faU,  therefore-" 
D«i^t  talk  about  falling." 

"But  it  would  be  a  faU,  wouldn't  it?  Don't  you  i«- 
^T^'.!^'  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  how  a  Saxon  crown 
pnncess  left  her  home  and  her  husband?  WeU,  all  I  mean 
•stiiat  b^use  of  her  position  her  story  mng  through  the 
tW  However  one  might  pity  unhappiness,  or  s^pa- 
tit^e^  a  miserable  love,  there  was  something  in  it  that 
degraded  her  country  and  her  womanhood.  I  suppose  the 
poor  things  mability  to  Uve  up  to  a  position  of  hror  wa^ 

tSL^r^T^-    D^'^'tyo^tW^  that  th.t  was 
what  we  felt  ?    And  in  your  case—" 

"  You  mustn't  compare  me  with  her  " 

^n"^°;  ^  ^°°''-^^cf  y-    All  I  meau  is  that  if-if  you 
do  what— what  I  think  you've  started  out  to  do— " 
She  raised  her  head  defiantly. 
370 


w 


w: 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


'And  I'm  going  to." 

«=andal.    It  wiU  bTSe^taS^Sf  "^  "", ''*'^"«  "•« 
,  fireside    between    the    AtW-       ^  '='"''  «"d  every 

London  and  Paris  and  Rm„.       ^„      ^^  P^P*"  of 

be  a  week  in  wWa^i°^'  ^L    ^"^;•""''  ^'^^ 
son  in  the  world  "     ^"  "^  *»>«  ™«t  discussed  per- 

pointed  at-ifs  what  it  w^h  ^°  "^  <=ase  you'd  be 
wl.  ^  had  gone  ov^  t^  ^,"2  ^T  ^'^  «  -°°-n 
that  by  to  break  down  whatX^T"^  ""  civilization 
up.  You'd  do  like  ZtT^L  ^°°^  ^°"^  ^  building 
strike  a  blow  aWo^ecS^P^  T^  P""'^^'  y°«'d 
Therearethousan^TpTS,.^*^  *'  ""  womanhood, 
and  America  whoTsaT  S  iTT""""^^'^ 
things—'"  ^'      ^^'  "^  she  can  do  such 

"Oh,  stop!" 

I  stopped  It  seemed  to  me  that  for  the  tim.  .^-  r 
had  gjven  her  enough  to  thinl- .k^T  the  tune  b«ng  I 
therefore,  looking  o^  at  thT^v^  ^^  "**  ^«>t. 
<«fted  back  f«^  S  l?;rScS^^,  ?r ^  -''o 
were  dozing  or  absorbed  in  bo^  ^  **  ""'  '^^  «»« 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


Porter^^ked  lu.  to  brin,  a  botUe  of  .pri^.w.,.,«^ 

folding  the  remainder  ^ti^iL^^J"  T"' 
away  The  dmple  meal  we  ha^^  tLS^l^ 
something  of  our  old-time  confid«!«^  *<«<»«»«« restored 

in  it^  '^ir^'^^ufXtJ.'^l'  -  I  P«t  the  bag  back 
*.ii  tiif  .  suppose.  He  g— he's  not  to  come  tnr  .». 
^..W«.  getting  near  the  Back  Bay^^J^^' 

I  brought  out  my  question  simply  though  T  u.a  i™- 
^d^ing  it  f„  some  time.    -^^I':^U!fJZ 

She  moved  uncomfortably 

tioa  she  glanced  m^L„,l!   •    *^  *  '!"'''^*"  ^°^^ 
"Would  jWStJ^  ''^^  '^^  ^'^  t^«  dark. 

Isbookmyhead 
JI_couldn't.     I've  never  seen  a  man  struck  dead. 

"S^J^^S  ?«""f ^"-hy  do  you  say  Lt?" 
on  at.^     '  '^  ^  *"'<*  ^'  't's  what  I  should  have  to  look 

^  began  wringing  her  hands. 
Oh  no,  yon  wouldn't." 

37a 


He's  »  itr  dren  man— 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

"Only  of  what  evety  one  can  we 
you've  told  me  so  yourself." 
"  Yes,  but  I  said  it  onlv  ahmit  w..»t.     t 

She  seemed  to  stiffen. 

"It's  not  my  fault  if  he  can't  " 

^-i^CAt:r^l,T'-   that  he 

•Mety  but  that's  the  sort  rf  fV  ,*  «^' ''««'  <=* 

and  can  endure.  Xy^l  «»"«  any  father  looks  for 

wife.  Moreover.  youS  tKf.  k  "u"'"^^  y°"''*  «s 
slavish  idolatry.  ^C^r!'w°".^^*°«^P«'»itha 
the  worid  and  vrealtTw  iif  nature  and  time  and 
gether  and  lays  itdown^v^fl  ^  ^  ^"^^  *»- 
only  give  him^  a  ^e  T.  **■  '^**"*^  "  y°»'« 
Sheshudde.^  ^'o«  aay  think  it  pitiful-" 

"IthinkitteiTibl^forme." 

of.  ^i^^tT.i^iY'j^'^'^^-'-talldng 
"isn't  v«yc«^**f;/,  T^  J-^I^^  at  her  steadUy^ 

conditiorifSw4X°^^*^-  Y°«^-o-^e 
his  nervous  system^^o^^^  r/'^^-^d  a^  for 
pooreye."     ^      '  "^  "^  ""^^  *° 'oo^  at  his  face  and  his 

"•iuf^'^^u^^-    Ifshiswholelif^.. 
But  his  whole  life  cuhainates  in  vo»     t*       , 
3-.  and  you  repre^,  ^^  IZ^Ss"!^^:^  ^ 


]i 


n 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

leanw  that  you're  deqjiMd  his  love  aad  diaboaomd  U. 

name—"  nrrewi  im 

Her  foot  tapped  the  floor  impatiently. 
"You  mustn't  say  things  like  that  to  me." 
"I'm  only  saying  them,  dear  Mrs.  Brokenshire.  w  that 
you  U  know  how  they  sound.  It's  what  every  one  else  will 
be  saymg  m  a  day  or  two.  You  can't  be  what-^what 
you  II  be  to-morrow,  and  still  keep  any  one's  respect. 
And  so.  I  humed  on.  as  she  was  about  to  protest,  "wton 
he  hears  what  you've  done,  you  won't  merely  have  broken 
his  heart.  you'U  have  kiUed  him  just  as  much  as  if  you'd 
puUed  out  a  revolver  and  shot  him. " 

She  swung  back  to  the  window  again.    Her  foot  eon- 
tamed  to  tap  the  floor;  her  finge«  twisted  and  untwist 
hke  wnthmg  hvmg  thmgs.    I  could  see  her  bosom  rise 
and  fall  mpidly;  her  breath  came  in  short,  hard  gasps 
Whe"  I  wasn^  expecting  it  she  n«mded  on  me  K. 
with  flames  m  her  eyes  like  those  in  a  small  tigress's 
"You're  saying  all  that  to  frighten  me;  but—" 
'Tm  saying  it  because  it's  true.     If  it  frightens 

"But  it  doesn't." 

"Then  I've  done  neither  good  nor  harm." 

"I've  a  right  to  be  happy." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  can  be  happy  this  way  " 

"And  I  can." 

"Thenthwe'snomoretobesaid.  We  can  only  agree 
w^thyou.  If  you  can  be  happy  when  you've  Mr.  Br^ 
shire  on  your  mmd,  as  you  must  have  whether  he's  alive 
Z  ^1^  "f  you  can  be  happy  when  you've  desecrated 
aU  the  thmgs  your  people  and  your  country  look  to  a 
woman  m  your  position  to  uphold-then  I  don't  think 
any  one  will  say  you  nay."  ^^ 

a74 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

•'.ZJ*  °?.^^  •""  •'^^^  that  WM  her  right. 

Other  women — "  ' 

"  Y^,  Mrs.  Brofajndiire,  other  women  berideo  you  have 
tned  the  experiment  of  Anna  Karfaina— " 
"What's  that?" 

i.  lf^J7  *"  ^  °*  '^°^^''  "»n*««^the  woman  who 
fa  mamed  to  an  old  man  and  runs  away  with  a  young  one 
hying  to  !«e  him  weary  of  the  position  in  which  she  placed 
mm,  and  dymg  by  her  own  act. 

As  she  listened  attentively.  I  went  on  before  she  could 
object  to  my  parable. 

"It  aU  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  There's  no  happi- 
n«s  except  m  right;  and  no  right  th  .  doesn't  sooner  or 
^ter-sooner  rather  than  later-  .d  in  happiness. 
y<w  ye  told  me  more  than  once  you  didn't  beUev,  that- 
and  if  you  don't  I  can't  help  it." 

I  feU  back  in  my  seat,  because  for  the  momen  ;  was 
exhausted.  It  was  not  merely  the  actual  situation  that 
took  the  strength  out  of  me,  but  what  I  dreaded  when  the 
man  came  for  his  prize  from  the  smoking-car.  I  might 
count  on  Lairy  Strangways  to  aid  me  then,  but  as  yet  he 
iMd  not  recognized  my  struggle  by  so  much  as  glancing 

Nor  had  I  known  .till  this  minute  how  much  I  cared  for 
the  httle  creature  before  me,  or  how  deeply  I  pitied  the 
nian  she  was  deserting.  I  could  see  her  as  happier  con- 
ditions would  have  made  her,  and  him  as  he  might  have 
become  if  his  nature  had  not  been  warped  by  pride.  Any 
impulse  to  strike  back  at  him  had  long  ago  died  within  me. 
It  might  as  weU  have  died,  since  I  never  had  the  nerve  to 
act  on  It,  even  when  I  had  the  chance. 

She  turned  on  me  again,  with  unexpected  fierceness. 
275 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


I  veactuaUy  joined  him  already     m^thi«^       .,. 
beside  that  chair"    <5>,.      jTT'.   "^  *™«>gs  are  there 
,       "'*'^-      ''he  nodded  backwanl     "»„  ^.i. 

it  1:^.^"°^^'^  ^'  •"  *«-*^--  -  <«<J  I  give 
like?^^'"  ""^  ««='«^.  lyrically,  "it  wiU  be 
I  ventured  much  as  I  intemipted. 

but  he  won't-he  won't  die  "  ^    *  wiU-but- 

-I^<.nKhe.«S^--r^-heth.^ 
376  ^* 


or 


dead,! 


THE  HIGH   HEAR' 


-  -«.u,  as  I've  said  alnsadv  he'ir  ^.-j  u  ^ 

anything  you  look  for^Winli!!^'*  ^f^  ^^^  «>d 

She  threw  he«elf  bSto  t^fT^  ^'^^i" 
a>«>ned.    Lucidly  th^HT  "^^P*^  °'  '»«•  «*air  and 

above  the  mtleoTS^-„'^d1^.'f«Id«<rt  be  heaxd 

Panion  or  trained  nurse  iTrC^  ^  ^'^  ^  P**"^  as  a  com- 

"Oh,  what's  the^V"^!'!^.'*!?*"^-^ invalid. 

desperation.     "I've^one It     jlt^'^  f***' ^  «  ^^  °f 

r.^-^'— -Av£^i.T--;-;ne 
4rt^s°viSr:^^i-«b:^^«o„.,et- 

as  not  to  think  of  it  even  wiTZTt  u  ^  ^  had  been  so  stupid 

2x  -°*  -  3. 'pS'rt?o:^'^thr^''*^' 

was  the  struggle  at  the  PnA  «*  «,  ■  -^  ^  "ad  foreseen 
StrangwajH^d  tl^TLtl" ^7'  ^^  ^^ 
^ththepow«^ofdarta«sTi„*l^^.''*  ^^  *^^  ^°"*" 
and  de^  fought  over  a  SlS^'^^'-  '«'^-'^  -S* 

-^V^:2Tngi?-2£-^«---"- 

at  io^LT^ZT^^^  .."  ^-  -"-i  to  get  off 

«e  would  be  disappointed  af  ^■^,o^    r 
««ed.  "but  he  woul&^S^if  *'?'•  °^  «««e,"  I  ^, 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

you  had  to  do  it;  but  if  you  continue  to-night  youcan  never 
come  back  again.  Don't  you  see?  Isn't  it  worth  turning 
over  in  your  mind  a  second  time— especially  as  I'm  here 
to  help  you?  If  you're  meant  to  be  a  Madeline  Pyne  or  an 
Anna  Kar^nina,  youll  get  another  opportunity." 

"Oh  no,  I  sha'n't,"  she  sobbed.    "If  I  don't  go  on  to- 
night, hell  never  ask  me  again." 

"He  may  never  ask  you  again  in  this  way;  but  isn't  it 
possible  that  there  may  eventually  be  other  ways?  Don't 
make  me  put  that  into  plainer  words.  Just  wait.  Let 
life  take  charge  of  it."  I  seized  both  her  hands.  " Dar- 
ling Mrs.  Brokenshire,  you  don't  know  yourself.  You're 
too  fine  to  be  ruined ;  you're  too  exquisite  to  be  just  thrown 
away.  Even  the  hungry,  passionate  love  of  the  man  in 
the  smoking-car  must  see  that  and  know  it.  If  he  comes 
back  here  and  finds  you  gone — or  imagines  that  you  never 
came  at  all— he'll  only  honor  and  love  you  the  more,  and 
go  on  wanting  you  still.  Come  with  me.  Let  us  go. 
We  can't  be  far  from  Providence  now.  I  can  take 
care  of  you.  I  know  just  what  we  ought  to  do.  I 
didn't  come  here  to  sit  beside  you  of  my]  own  free 
will;  but  since  I  am  here  doesn't  it  seem  to  you  as 
if— as  if  I  had  been  sent?" 

As  she  was  sobbing  too  unrestrainedly  to  say  anything 
in  words,  I  took  the  law  into  my  own  hands.  The  porter 
had  already  begun  dusting  the  dirt  from  the  passengers 
who  were  to  descend  at  Providence  on  to  those  who  were 
going  to  Boston.  Making  my  way  up  to  him,  I  had  the 
inspiration  to  say: 

"The  old  lady  I'm  with  isn't  quite  so  well,  and  we're 
going  to  stop  here  for  the  night." 
He  grinned,  with  a  fine  show  of  big  white  teeth. 
"All  light,  lady;    I'll  take  care  of  you.    Cranky  old 
278 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^Jetr^n  drew  into  Pn,videncestatio„and^rS;JS 

obliged  to  pidl  and  drag  and  oush  li«-  «ii   i,  ^ 

lifted  to  the  platfonT^        ^  '  *^  ^«  '^  A^y 

at^^°?  '^1° ^  ""^  *="'  '""'^^'  I  took  time  to  glance 
at  the  Enghsh  traveling-cap      I  noterf  th^  u.T^  , 

P«ied  since  leaving  the  main  station  in  New  Yo^W 
Straagways  could  say  that  he  was  whoUy  unTwa^    ^ 
19 


CHAPTER  XVra 

W^Jr'^^^'f  <!«>  the  train  after  M«.  Brotenshins 
hU  t  v^'""  it  I  heard  fiom  Mr.  StraZZ^ 
?r^°*  't  fipm  him  in  some  detail.  I  cangiyeit  bTy 
own  words  more  easily  than  in  his.  '^ 

Hftl ."^7  .^  permitted  to  state  here  how  much  and  how 
httleof  the  xomaa«  between  Mr.  Grainger  and  1^ 
Brokensbre  Larry  st^ngways  knew.  Hetoe^nJf^ 
nothiag-but  he  inferred  a  good  deal.    ^f^T^l™ 

«^der  has  oWrabon  as  Mr.  Grainger's  confident  ^ 
«^dto  which  otherwise  he  would  have  had  no  I^.Te 
infixed,  for  mstance,  that  Mrs.  Biokenshire  wrote  daflv 

their  m^tin^^  ^d^^  ^",  ,£  iS^^^l"'" 

2hTf^?****J^^«^^^tthisLtminr^d 
as  he  had  got  out  of  it  with  other  women  he  wasX,„1^„ 

^been  the  only  such  instance  in  Stacy  Grainger's 
^  Larry  Strangways  might  not  have  felt  impell^to 
•S?=  '^^■/?«^**»^°«inethathrCl^ 

wS±  r^'^V  ""  ^""^  '*  *^y  '^"t  to  help  ^^Ta 

woman  for  whom  he  knew  I  cared.  i'mesavea 

aSo 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


cation  of  the3  "^^  ""^P*^  ««  "!>««*«  on  the  appli. 

thrSSo"?  aSt^'f  "^-^^  ^  that  monung  go  to 

Boston,  he  had  r^nTS  f^L°°  ^'  fiv^'dock  for 
I  have  briefly  J^^f  j^^  "^  *5«  ««««  of  which 
available,  belv^Jt.^        ^°  ^^e-room  was 

Howfarhe  was  SS5L^:r^«*°'>^«°wn  ideas. 

Some  n^y  con,SrS:Se^tht'Z"*  °'  °^'°"- 
unwarrantable  interfeZU     m  -^  """^  ^^  °f 

no  importance  I  S^bsJl^  °""  •^'^^t  •^"8  °f 
j«st  as  they  occm«d  ^*°^'  ^^«  ^^  ^^^^ents 

It  must  be  evident  that  as  Mr  <5t« ,. 

what  was  to  happen  he^,M  ^     ^*^«^y5  didn't  know 
he  could  arrSforw.?^/t'^"°P'^°^^ti°n-    All 

acquaintances  a^^e  on^^  °^  *°  ^°P«  '^^ 
*«'Jd  find  d^^lZu  T  "^^^  «^t  they 
«««i  on  channScT^^L"  T^«  «*"  ^' 
^^i^  Stacy  GtainL  oT^f  ^/r"".^"^^  ^  '" 
Brokenshiz^4t^ra„yfel^?'^V >"  P"«^«  M«. 
it  was,  run  smootWy  i^%'°J^5  *«  ««°''-  «><*  as 
I  should  have  b^ m^,^  ^T  ^^  ^^  "^^d  on  me 
'^oelwasl^yi^S  ^^  *^  '  ''^y  ^ 

B^^lSSaTllS^^^J^  ~t  ->-- M„. 
a  vague  idea  of  what  had^^^  Straagways  had  but 


THE   HIGH  HEART 
fl«t  idea  WM,  as  he  plwaed  it,  to  make  hiawdf  Ki«»  «. 

Hoping  to  dip  into  another  car  and  Um^dT«ee&,„ 
with  the  outmanoeuvered  lov«-  t,-  -.  •       *"**»« 

fT^'^*'""  '.''  *""*  "^  ^«^-  P^^SS  to  taS 
tor  something  on  the  floor     tj,«  t-ii /:  *      searen 

came  back  aLn     It  ^l^JIl    ^&P^  passed,  but 
back  be^,^;^.    '^  ««««sary  that  he  should  come 
oacK  because  of  the  number  on  the  ticket  thn  ^t^tJTlZ 
waMong-stick.  and  the  golf-dubs  '  *^* 

^"HeUo,'st«n;XT  S?'A?'Sst^'"-  • 
of  this?"  ^^      What  s  the  meaning 

Strangways  rose.    As  the  question  had  been  asked  in 

P«»pl»aty  rather  tiian  in  anger,  he  coT^^^ 

The  meamng  of  what,  sir?"  -""wer  calmly. 

^Jei^  the  deuce  are  you  going?    What  a«  you  doing 
"I'm  going  to  Boston,  sir." 

"What  for?    Who  told  you  vou  could  go  to  Boston?" 
n.e  tone  b,^  to  nettle  the  young  „L,  ^^^^^'^^ 

303 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

•ccnstomed  to  being  sDol»n  ♦ 

"No  one  told  me,  sir.    T  dirfnv  .  u 
"The  devil  vouh2f*«?!^«rP'°y-" 


"Since  this 


di.vn,      -'"'"'•  your  emploi 
Sr"'?"""'    Since  ^L?1 


before 
I'm 


comeback."  ^^  y°"  *"e  tickets  you  didn't 

no''tJtiV°"HfJ?«*f«*nttoamanwho-s-    But 

"Y^-'sthe-taTho-fbi'^  r  "««*  '^  °- 

Mr.  Strangwavs  ^^  u •   ^"  ""*»"«  here?" 
shook  his  heaT"^  ^^  '^  ^y^''"'^  i^ocently.  and 

What.'    There  must  have  b«n  ,  i  ^    u 

havegotonatOneHun.fa^raSd,^^.''"^-    ^«  t° 

"Possibly;  I  only  sTTLnY^*^-^*^  Street- 
fact.  I've  been  nJn^and  fdlTt.''-.,  x^'f  "  '^"^  "^ 
dunng  the  entire  joui«ey     h^/  *'""''  ^  l°°t«l  Wund 

-d?"  he  suggested,  i/a  lo^  1?^  ^^^  "°*  ^P«* - 
temngtous."  "  ^ower  tone.    "People  are  lis- 

--tbesamee.pCStoSr'.>*  ^--tedly.  "there 

^^Psth:ZVSdr.^-2j-J.^veit.    Per- 

Mr.    Grainger  nodded  his  ^'^'^•" 
■"•^'1  with  the  flashing  teeth  «.^^'°°-    ^«  colored 
'^i^o^'ing  them.  ^  ^"^  '^^^  "P  °°  the  broad  grin, 

wail^^'ilii^^Sltrrth?  *^%?"-«°-   "they 
"Two  ladies.?"  uT^f.  ^^^^^y^^  Ne'  Yawk." 

•■-««.  .en.lemen.-?;rSn?iS"^.r- 


283 


young 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Yep,  jenTemen;  ole  and  erankv     T '>in'»  k.-ji^  i 

lley  done  grt  off  at  P«Mdenoe.  though  ^wStoSl 
TltS^  Boston,  because  ZI^TrcS?? 

He^d^r^Tof^L^l-r-^^^utHedid^ 

Did  tte  young  lady  wear-wear  a  veil?" 
The  porter  scratched  his  head 

thi^£,*Si°''*'*''^'*-^«°f  them  ther.  flowery 
S^ff^loS^_;;S,^^wf  Hng  desigT^ 

Kke  aU  over  people's  face  "         °«^  «  l°«d  of  patten,- 

•  ^ss^t'^rroSsr-^"'^-^-^^^ 

"Was  she— pretty?" 

cvare  of  ^  „)«     ^°^  *"  ^«  "as  so  soft-spoken.    Had 
^^of  the  ole  one,  who  was  what  you'd  call  pl^b 

.^yl^  ^•TH^'  ''^  "^^  "°*  ^^  following 

204 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


»K  «P  the  leqpth  of  the  ro,      a      ■ 

^  at  thrr/eS^.Tthrir^iS  r  ^^^ 

'*turued  was  livid-  h.'.  ™         ^^'    "^  &ce  as  he 

,."™8ways  rephed,  composedlv: 

thing  about. "  '*  ^"^  ''^^  I  don't  know  any. 

He  slapped  his  knee 

--.  anythi.,  s^f rsSTboTt  ^li?-  £ 
tol^^'to?-^""'*  '''^''  ^-  ««t  *  drawi„g..oo«.  as  I 

K  y-"cSd^tS:l?toTf^  ^«-  "-«  to  be  had. 

B-J I  supp...  that^-rSbl^  ~°''^"-  ^  «'"- 
,oaths£S.^rs::-^--^butaseriesof„utte^ 
Icon's  growl.    For  ^e  S!.         '"''''^"^  ^  ^  f^'^ied 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

hM  eyta,  mod  aooiething  that  mm  foUy.  futflity.  and  hdi>- 
leuneu  all  over  Urn.  /.  •»«  ««p- 

Atoort  no  further  conver»tion  paned  between  them 
tai  they  got  out  m  Boston.  In  the  ctowd  Stnnswayi 
endeavored  to  go  oflE  by  himself,  but  found  Mr.  Grainnr 
constantly  beside  him.  He  was  beside  him  when  they 
reached  the  place  where  tascAbs  were  called,  and  otdend 
his  porter  to  call  one.  ^^         «w>"a 

"Get  in,"  he  said,  then. 
Lany  Strangways  protested. 
"I'm  going  to — " 

I  must  be  sufiSdently  unlady-like  to  give  Mr.  Grainger's 
iwponse  just  as  it  was  spoken,  because  it  strikes  me  as 
characteristic  of  men. 
"Oh,heUI    Get  in.    You're  coming  with  me." 
Chaiacteiistic  of  men  was  the  rest  of  the  evening     In 
^te  of  Triiat  had  happened-and  had  not  hmppmei- 
Messrs.  vrfamgcr  and  Strangways  partook  of  an  exodlent 
sopper  together,  eating  and  drinking  with  ^metite.  and 
smoking  their  cigars  with  what  looked  like  an  air  of  tnm- 
qmUity     Though  the  fury  of  the  balked  wild  animal 
retunied  to  Stacy  Grainger  by  fits  and  starts,  it  didn't 
interfere  with  his  relish  of  his  food  and  only  once  did  it 
break  ite  bounds.    That  was  when  he  struck  the  ann  of 
his  chair,  saying  beneath  his  breath,  and  yet  audibly 
enough  for  his  secretary  to  hear: 
"She  funked  it— damn  her!" 
Larry  Strangways  then  took  it  on  himadf  to  say 
"I  don't  know  the  lady,  sir,  to  whom  you  refer,  nor  the 

reasons  she  may  have  had  for  funking  it,  but  may  I  advise 
you  tor  your  own  peace  of  mind  to  withdraw  the  two 
concluding  syllables?" 

386 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

A  pair  or  flme,  meUacholy  eyw  tmt^  on  him  for  » 
noond  unoompreheiidiiigly. 

I  I^..?*''*'"  *•*  <«•«*"«>  lovw  ^.«^  heavily  «t 
l«rt.    "  I  may  as  weU  take  them  back-  ^ 

JJ^;;j<J^  women  w«e  my  expeHenee.  While 

Bundled  out  into  the  station  at  Providence  no  two  poor 
toales  could  ever  have  been  mo™  foriom.  StJSn"^ 
the  w«tm«-room  with  our  bags  amund  us  I  felt  like  one 

J«P«ee  of  the  country  to  ^rhich  they  have  come.  I  h^ 
«^^  seen  on  docks  at  Halif«t.    As  for  Mn..  Brol^ 

way  down  upon  the  unexpected;  never  before  hadshe  b^ 
^^2^comed.andunp,epa:«,.  ShewasioX^ 
-^^TtoBrf.  Wwe  she  falling  f:x»n  an  aeroplane  she 
c«dd  not  have  b«n  more  at  a  loss  as  to  wherHhe  was 
^  to  ahght  Small  wonder  was  it  that  she  should^ 
^2^^  one  of  her  own  valises  and  begin  to  «y  dis. 

hadto^diemustay  I  could  hear  the  tr^  puffing  out 
ofthe  station,  and  as  far  as  that  went  she  was  safe    My 

fiirtpreoccupationshadtodowithwhereweweretogo 
For  Uus  I  made  mquiries  of  the  porter,  who  named  what 

to  the  ticket^ffice  and  put  the  same  question  gettine 
aF.-^»mately  the  same  answer.  ITien  seei^' f  S! 
dressed  man  and  lady  enter  the  station  from  a  private 
^  which  Icould  discern  outside,  I  repeated  my  in,^C 
^^InTi^^  that  I  had  come  fr«n  New  Y^k  with^ 
mvahd  lady  who  had  not  been  weU  enough  to  continue  the 
387 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

But  I  couldn't  sob  very  lo^g.  as  I  stm  haddutiestofm. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

ffl.  It  wu  of  litUe  use  to  have  her  under  my  cuts  at 
Providence  utJcm  those  who  would  in  the  end  be  most 
concerned  as  to  her  whereabouU  were  to  know  the  facts— 
or  the  approximate  facts— from  the  start.  It  was  a  case  in 
which  doubt  for  a  night  might  be  doubt  for  a  lifetime-  and 
so  when  she  was  suffidenUy  cahn  for  me  to  leave  her  I 
went  down-stairs. 

Though  I  had  not  referred  to  it  again.  I  had  made  a 
mental  note  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Brokenshire  was  at  New- 
port.  If  at  Newport  I  knew  he  could  be  nowhere  but  in 
one  hotel.  Within  fifteen  minutes  I  was  talking  to  him 
on  the  telephone. 

He  was  plainly  annoyed  at  being  caUed  to  the  instru- 
ment  so  Ute  as  half  past  ten.  When  I  said  I  was  Alexan- 
dra Adare  ho  -eplied  that  he  didn't  recognize  the  name. 

"I  was  formerly  nursery  governess  to  your  daughter 
Mrs.  Rossiter,"  I  explained.  'Tm  the  woman  who's 
refused  as  yet  to  marry  your  son,  Hugh." 
"Oh,  that  person,"  came  the  response,  uttered  wearily. 
"Yes,  sir;  that  person.  I  must  apologize  for  ringing 
you  up  so  late;  but  I  wanted  to  teU  you  that  Mrs.  Broken- 
shire is  here  at  Providence  with  me." 

The  symptoms  of  distress  came  to  me  in  a  series  of 
choking  sounds  over  the  wire.    It  was  a  good  half-minute 
before  I  got  the  words: 
"What  does  that  mean?" 

"It  means  that  Mrs.  Brokenshire  is  perfectly  weU  in 
physical  condition,  but  she's  tired  and  nervous  and  over- 
wrought." 
I  made  out  that  the  muffled  and  strangled  voice  said : 
"I'll  motor  up  to  Providence  at  once.  It's  now  half 
past  ten.  I  shall  be  there  between  one  and  two.  What 
hotel  iJiall  I  find  you  at?" 

aSg 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


"Don'totane.  sir,"  I  pleadeA  "I  had  to  teU  you  we 
were  in  Providence,  because  you  could  have  fou^raT 
out  by  asking  where  the  longistance  caut^  S^'fi^* 
but  ts  most  important  to  JVto.  Brokenshi«X?Z 
should  have  a  few  days  ^one  "  ^^ 

^I^shaU  judge   of  that.     To  Tvhat   hotel   shall  I 

"I  beg  and  implore  you,  sir,  not  to  come.    Please  be. 

heveme  whenlsaythatitwill  be  better  Wou^reS 
Try  to  trtist  me.    Mrs.  Brokenshire  isn't  far  fr^a^ 

n, '?t^r°"";''''*^^'=^^-hertomitoa^■ 
ortwoIbeheveIco^ldtideheroverit•■  '^^""^ 

yii^rth^rr  '°"°^  °"  *^'  *^  ^*  ^  ^« 

'Where  are  you  going.'" 
Fortunately,  I  had  thought  of  that 

sc.'Ss^fyLtr..^--^-^'^-  ^--'- 

^^^suggested  a  hotel  at  I^ox  as  suitable  for  such  a 

.y,!^'^  ^^?  ^°  '^^  *^  ^^-^'t  «««t  people  whom 
S^^y  JS^^  ^^  ^  •^-'^^  ^  ^'^^^^^ 

"But  I  can  see  you  in  the  morning  before  you  leave?" 
^^O^e^a^twasnowthatofrequest.    The  overtone  in 

"Oh,  don't  try  to,  sir.    She  wants  to  get  awav  from 

Ss"-  s;:s?ot^"^"'*-'^'*-^°'^-'°"i-^ 

frrl  7^'  1-  ,  *'°*  *°  ^  P"""*  '^l^ere  she  had  to  escaoe 
from  ev«yth,„g  she  knew  and  cared  about;  and  so  a^^ 
L     sr.~lilT"^^*^y-^^  "^^ded  to  come  wiS 

PerfecUyweU.   All  she  wants  is  some  one  to  be  with  hei!^ 
2go 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

i»*OTa  she  knows  she  can  trust,    ae  hasn't  even  talno 
Angehque.    She  simply  begs  to  be  alone." 

In  tiie  end  I  made  my  point,  but  only  after  genuine 
beseechmg  on  his  part  and  much  repetition  on  mine. 
Having  said  good-night  to  him— he  actually  used  tl-xe 
words— I  called  up  Angflique,  in  order  to  bring  peace  to  a 
household  in  which  the  mistress's  desertion  would  create 
some  consternation. 

Angffique  and  I  might  have  been  called  friends.  The 
fact  that  I  spoke  French  comm  um  Franiaise.  as  she  often 
feittered  me  by  saying,  ^as  a  bond  between  us,  and  we  had 
the  further  point  of  sympathy  that  we  were  both  devoted 
to  Mrs.  Brokenshire.  Besides  that,  there  is  something 
m  me-I  suppose  it  must  be  a  plebeian  streak-which 
cables  me  to  understand  servants  and  get  along  with 
them. 

I  gave  her  much  the  same  explanation  as  I  gave  to  Mr 
Brokenshire,  though  somew'.  it  differently  put.  In  addi- 
tion I  asked  her  to  pack  such  selections  from  the  simpler 
examples  of  Mrs.  Brokenshire's  wardrobe  as  the  lady 
might  need  in  a  country  place,  and  keep  them  in  readiness 
to  send.  Ang^Uque  having  expressed  her  relief  that  Mrs 
Brokenshire  was  safe  at  a  known  address,  in  the  company 
of  a  responsible  attendant— a  reUef  which,  so  she  said 
would  be  shared  by  the  housekeeper,  the  chef,  and  the 
butler,  all  of  whom  had  spent  the  evening  in  painful  specu- 
lation- we  took  leave  of  each  other,  with  our  customary 
mutual  compliments. 

Though  I  was  so  tired  by  this  time  that  fainting  would 
have  been  a  solace,  I  caUed  for  a  Boston  paper  and  began 
studying  the  advertisements  of  country  hotels.  Having 
made  a  selection  of  these  I  consulted  the  manager  of  our 
present  place  of  refuge,  who  strongly  commended  one  of 
291 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^'.fI^*^V  "^^  ^  night-letter  commandeeriflg  the 

IUydownonaccwchmMrs.Brokenshire'sn)om.    Whei^ 

i^Tr,^"  T  ^^^^  ^'  *°°'  ^^P'  '^*^""y-  About  once 
m  an  hour  I  went  sofUy  to  her  bedside,  and  finding  her 
donng,  If  not  sound  asleep,  I  went  softly  back  again 

Between  four  and  five  we  had  a  litUe  scene,  'as  I 
approached  her  bed  she  looked  up  and  said: 
"What  are  we  going  to  dr  ia  the  morning?" 
Afraid  to  tell  her  all  I  had  put  in  train,  I  gave  my  ideas 
m  the  form  of  suggestion.  j     «» 

"No,  I  sha'n't  do  that,"  she  said,  quietly 
She  lay  quite  stiU,  her  cheek  embossed  on  the  piDow 
and  a  great  stray  curl  over  her  left  shoulder.  ' 

''Then  what  would  you  like  to  do?" 
'■  I  should  hke  to  go  straight  back." 
''To  begin  the  same  old  life  all  over  again?" 
"To  begin  to  see  him  all  over  again  " 
"Do  you  think  that  after  last  night  you  can  begin  to  see 
hmi  in  the  same  old  way?"  "^Jurosee 

"I  must  see  him  in  some  way." 

"But  isn't  the  way  what  you've  still  to  discover?"  I 
resolved  on  a  bold  stroke.  "Wouldn't  part  of  your  object 
m  gomg  away  for  a  time  be  to  think  out  some  methXf 
reconohng  your  feeling  for  Mr.  Grainger  with-with 
your  self-respect?" 

"My  selt-respect?"  She  looked  as  if  she  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing.     "What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

ilasn  t  It  got  everything  to  do  with  it?    You  can't 
live  without  it  forever." 

it  il?°  ^°"  ""^  ^^  ^'^^  '^"  '^'^"S  without  it  as 

"Isn't  that  for  you  to  say  rather  than  for  me?" 
393 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

She  was  sflent  for  a  minute,  after  which  she  said,  fiet- 

J'^  ^^'^!^^^  '*'«  very  nice  of  you  to  talk  to  me  like 
that.  You  ve  got  me  here  at  your  mercy,  when  I  might 
have  heea-"  A  long,  bubbling  sigh,  like  the  aftermath 
of  tears,  laid  stress  on  the  joys  she  had  foregone.  "He'll 
never  forgive  me  now^  -never." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better,  dear  Mrs.  Brokenshire,"  I 
ask.l,  to  consider  whether  or  not  you  can  ever  forrive 
him?" 

She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  and  looked  at  me 
Seated  m  a  low  arm-chair  beside  her  bed,  in  an  old-rose- 
colored  kimono,  my  dark  hair  hanging  down  my  back,  I 
was  not  a  fascinating  object  of  study,  even  in  the  light  of 
one  small,  distant,  shaded  bedroom  lamp. 
^'' What  should  I  foi:give  him  for?— for  loving  me?" 
"Yes,  for  loving  you— in  that  way." 
"He  loves  me — " 

'So  much  that  he  could  see  you  dishonorer!  and  dis- 
graced—and shunned  by  decent  people  all  the  rest  of  your 
hfe-just  to  gratify  his  own  desires.  It  seems  to  me  you 
may  have  to  forgive  him  for  that." 
_  "He  asked  me  to  do  only  what  I  would  have  done  will- 
mgly— if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

"But  he  asked  you.    The  responsibility  is  in  that. 
You  didn't  make  the  suggestion;  he  did." 
"He  didn't  make  it  till  I'd  let  him  see—" 
"Too  much.    Forgive  me  for  saying  it,  dear  Mrs    ' 
Brokenshire;  but  do  you  think  a  woman  should  ever  go  so 
far  to  meet  a  man  as  you  did?" 

"I  let  him  see  that  I  loved  him.    I  did  that  before  I 
married  Mr.  Brokenshire." 
' '  You  let  him  see  more  than  that  you  loved  him.    You 
'93 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

^  l.im  tl«.t  3^  didn't  know  how  to  Bv.  ,ritho«t 
"But  sinoe  I  didn't  know  how--" 

oeao  dependent  on  »njan  as  that"  "««ia 

She  feU  back  again  on  her  pillows. 

It  s  easy  to  see  you've  never  been  in  love." 
I  have  been  in  love-ond  am  stiU;  but  love  is  not  «,« 
most  miportant  thing  in  the  world-"  ^  *^' 

_^Jhen  you  differ  from  all  the  great  teachers.    Tleysay 

;;if  they  do  they're  not  speaking  of  sesual  love." 
..T«,      *"*  ^^  speaking  of,  then?" 
They're  speaking  of  another  kind  of  love  with  wt„Vi, 

^d?r  "^  "^  "°*^«  *°  <^-  I^^ilfaSS 
and  I  know  the  seiuai  has  its  olace     R«t  tK^       .  ^ 

t^'s.  much  bigger  than  tit^the '4  i^S^r*  S 

'■  Yes,  but  so  long  as  one  never  sees  it—" 

mlSTj  ^  ^  "^  °^  ^^'  "^bellion  that  loused 
my  spmt  and  made  me  speak  in  a  way  5«rhich  I  shoddn^ 
otherwise  have  aUowed  myself.  >  »'  "™  ^  snouia  not 

"You  do  see  it,  darling  Mrs.  Brokenshire,"  I  declared 
more  sweetly  than  I  felt  "  Vm  .»,«-_■  ~:  '  ^  oeciared, 
o-j...  J  J' ••"»" -i  leic.  imshowmgittoyou."  Ihw 
and  stood  over  her     "Who«-j„.  ^/^u.     irose 

by  but  love?    ^;*     ^*t  do  yo"  suppose  I'm  prompted 

SLn^  «J^   made  me  step  in  between  you  and  Mr. 

.wSb^.rT^^''^^^y««'l»»tI<'ve?    Love 

y^  ^,^^!  '*^'^'^''  if«  action  that  mak^ 

^^TbJ.T^  "^  "*'°°'  "''^  •*  has  to  be  righ" 
acnon.    Tljere  a  no  love  separaWe  from  riehf  and  until 

^TifSy'r^'-?^ "-  uSiy  i-r; 

™ere  mg  m  my  own  person.    I've  no  more  character 
894 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


ve  got  a  wee  little  bM 


th»n  a  hen.    But  becmise  I' 
an  right—" 
She  broke  in,  peevishly,  as  she  turned  away: 

I  do  wish  you'd  let  n>e  go  to  sleep  " 
I  got  doTO  from  my  high  horse  and  went  back,  humbly, 
to  my  couch.    Scarcdy.  however,  had  I  lain  doU,  w£ 
the  voice  came  again,  in  childish  complaint- 
I  think  you  might  have  kissed  me."    - 

">fJ  never  kissed  her  in  my  life,  nor  had  she  ever  shown 
any  «gn  of  permitting  me  this  liberty.  Timi^I  ZS 
back  to  the  bed;  timidly  I  bent  over  it.  But  iWS 
Pr^  for  the  sudden  intense  clinging  with  which  she 
tW  her  ams  round  my  neck  and  drew  my  face  down 

ao 


CHAPTER  XIX 
I^?*t"^^  ^-  B«'ken*it«  was  difficult  again 

^e  wished  to  see.  K^^^  £  1^^  ^"""^ ''^°°' 
be  at  one  of  the  few  hotX'of'^i^^  ^TZr^" 
I  couldn't  risk  a  Tn<v.+,v„  tr  ""^  *™  oaa  the  chotce, 
shanie  she  S  noStion  2""  P?^°^«°«  '^e.  a 
failed hi«.  HewSe^TorS^^r^^"^^^ 
wouldn't  love  her  anv  m«I     ^t  '  ^®  °»oaned;  he 

to  be  f-/i'rrz-th''inh': SniiT  "°* 

the  early  hou«  of  that  day^  to  £  tT^I^  '^'^^ 
hadgone.andflinghe^ui^^f^^'"'^'  'wherever he 

wl^^rmr:  fZ^T  ^^^  ^  «°^n  we  had 
stonesfro.thet:th^S.^„^£S^-%-f'e- 
now  an  outraged  queen  and  now  a  fi^^tiTten^i  T 
Spai^g  me  neither  tears  nor  leproad.^  S^J^?"*" 
nor  denunciations,  she  neveraiZffMt      ^     ^^*^"^ 

-tly.  Sitting  ophite  m:rS^£Jr1"n-°'^'- 
papers  and  fashion  magazines  I  s^.7^'  f  ?""*'  ^^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

beaten  and  trampled  and  enslaved.  For  this  kind  of 
MOilege  I  had  ceased,  however,  to  be  contrite.  I  was  so 
tired,  and  had  grown  so  grim,  that  I  could  have  led  her 
along  m  handcuffs. 

•  ^"^  Tl^*'  ^  ^  *^'  P«n.  northern  country  the 
joy  of  a  budding  and  blossoming  world  stole  into  us  in  spite 
o  aU  our  ^     We  couldn't  help  getting  out  of  our  own 
httle  round  of  thought  when  we  saw  fields  that  were  car- 
pets of  ^n  velvet,  or  copses  of  hazelnut  and  alder  coming 
mto  leaf,  or  a  farmer  sowing  the  plowed  earth  with  the 
swmg  and  the  stride  of  the  Senwur.    We  couldn't  help 
seeing  wider  and  farther  and  more  hopefully  wh  an  the  skv 
was  Ml  arch  of  silvery  blue  overhead,  and  white  clouds 
drifted  across  it,  and  the  north  into  which  we  were  travel- 
mg  began  to  fling  up  masses  of  rolling  hills. 
She  caught  me  by  the  arm. 
"Oh,  do  look  at  the  lambs!    Thedarlingsl' 
There  they  were,  three  or  four  helpless  creatures,  shiver- 
ing m  the  sharp  May  wind  and  apparently  struck  by  the 
futihty  of  a  hfe  which  would  end  in  nothing  but  making 
ch^s.    The  ewes  watched  them  maternally,  or  stood 
patiently  to  be  tugged  by  the  full  wooUy  breasts     After 
ttat  we  kept  our  eyes  open  for  other  Uving  things-   for 
horees  and  cows  and  calves,  for  Corots  and  Constables— 
mih  a  difference  !-on  the  uplands  of  farms  or  in  village 
highways.    Once  when  a  foal  gaUoped  madly  away  from 
the  train  kicking  up  its  slender  hind  legs,  my  companion 
actually  laughed. 

When  we  got  out  at  the  station  a  robin  was  singing,  the 
first  bud  we  had  heard  that  year.  The  note  was  so  full  and 
pure  and  Eden-like  that  it  caught  one's  breath.  It  went 
wjth  the  bronze-green  of  maples  and  ehns,  with  the  golden 
westenng  sunshine,  and  with  the  air  that  was  Uke  the  dis-  ' 
297 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Dri-'ing  in  the  S^^  L"^  "T^  *^  in  It. 
of  the  town.  ^  saSTtSt^Si^'SrS?.^.  "^  '^ 
roomy  Colonial  dienitvT^^If .       *  *"*"*•  *°«»«««  had  a 

Having  learned  Mtto  fa^  ^''  «"««inded  them  ail 

Jam  was  in  the^arv'taT,  ?*  '""  everywhere, 

blossoms,  in  the  S^^^^*^^'^"'  dainty  white 
«°<i  «  the  appIeS  ^^yT^J"  «  ^''^  "^  two. 
fong  straight  lines  whicT^^ZT.^'^-    J«n  was  in  the 
benies,  and  in  the  simxbb^JT         ""P"^^^  strew- 
then^adsideswherXS^tl™^*-    J«n  was  along 
ing  bines  with  ^^  aK^'^  ?°*""«  '*«  1»«S^ 
dened  the  waste^^'^th  ftT^.  "^^  ""^'^  ^^■ 
Jam  is  ?  toothson^X^ryX^S^  n  "^*  '^• 
a  houseke^ing  heart  can  te  inSbte1^°M°T  ^"' 
did  something  to  bring  Mrs  R^  u-    .      ^-"^^^^  °^ '' 
to  the  simple  natW^^  slJ^Sf^  '  *^°^''*^  ^^ 
n«ching  the  hot«iL     '^^  ^  ^  forsworn,  even  before 

«Sji°!iS':,^^  ^fenn-house  that  had 
of  nan.w  haUs^d  S^^"  ^  t«ve«ed  aU  sorts 
<^.  taiatlast  weet^^on^^  °^  "^'^  ^*^- 
viewled  us  st^ght  ^^SZy  "^  ^'^^  '"'««  «>e 

Not  that  it  was  an  m^  --~~"J'- 
peaceful  and  a  noble^'TtS  y^"'"'"  '*  ^  only  a 
Its  folds  a  scattering  ^^kJlT^^  ~^*^  ^^eld  in 
««>then:  New  0^^^^%''^}°^^  of  the 
to  the  north. "  Green\^„f  ^hich  closed  the  horizon 
scape,  melting  in^'^^  ^  T^'  ""'  °°*^  °^  «>«  land- 
thesky.    SpLg,rre;i!S*^-'^-ft««« 

between  the  ridges,  and  a  iCShTl^"""  T*  "^ 
'uauve  light  rested  on  the  three 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

wWte  rteeiJe*  of  the  town.    The  town  itm  ™«4,.~  < 

^«d«d  feet  beW  «  ^  .  ^J^^^^ 

feathery  bower  of  verdure.  «»uiiii  «n  « 

When  I  joined  Mrs.  Biokenshire  she  was  gmsptoe  the 

a«*ew  long  breaths,  like  a  thimy  pe«on  drinking,  ^e 
hs^  to  tie  «lh„g  and  answering  of  birds^  S^ 
Jh«nned  and  upturned.    It  was  a  bath  of  the  spirrtto^ 

^I  lLT±!r*  "^^  ''•^"8:  't  '««  sooting  1„^ 
r«tful  and  cottecbve.  settir.g  what  was  sane  witK 

thS^M^^  ^^u^^^^"  ^y"""*  nientiomng  the  fact 
ttot  M«.  Brofcei^.  i„  ^pite  of  herself,  ente^l  intoa 
pmod  m  which  her  taut  nerves  relaxed  and  her  o^ 
^b^e,notionsbeo«ne,^.    itwasakLof^ 

.1?^  *•  ^'^^t^ledandsuffemlsoS 
that  she  was  content  for  a  time  to  lie  still  in  the  ev^lS 

anns  and  be  rocked  and  comforted.  Wehadti^TiS 
o^rooms;  weatethesimplestoffood;  weledSZSS 
ofhv«.  By  day  we  read  and  walked  and  talk^TSS 
and  thought  much;  at  night  we  slept  soun^^^^  fel! 

^■^  T  P^'^  ''^°  ^^  the  same,  L^  Si 
proo^  with  golf  and  moving  pictures.  fH^™ 
part  tney  were  tired  people  from  the  neighboring  to^ 

S'the^^^Jr"'  *°  ^°''  '^''^  ^'f«-  Bn>ken«hire 
was  they  respected  her  pnvacy,  never  doing  woree  than 

'^  "^^T  ^  ''''^  *«  "-t^  the  dilg^^r 
so  much  that  it  was  a  joy  to  me  to  witness  the  revival  rf 

her  spint,  and  I  looked  forward  to  seeing  her  r^^noJ 
too  reluctantly,  to  her  husband  "       "*"'^'  °°t 

With  him  I  had,  of  course,  some  correspondence.    It 
399 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

•W«." M  ^iZI^-  ,'^"~"K'  "Dear  Mr.  Brol»„. 
n>e„t  came  L^  T^  ^^L^"  *?'  '^'^'^'^ 

I  adopted  the  ^le  ifs^r/h^-    ^'^^'''^  ^^^^  «>««. 

teg.  for  I  h1^    ,2,2orr  '^  ^y  P««*d  in  Writ. 

acquaintance  wit^t^"*'BZS.h"?*^.*°'^'^y-  ^y 
one.  I  was  obliged  to^e^jTo  ^"^  ^^"«  ^>^  «  «<«t 
and  even  to  AnSique     f^^  •  ""^''  ^"^  ^^'^^  R°«rfter. 

f-  '-t.  too.  setCdown  j5^'r,rrf'  *°»p^°^- 

»y  company  to  a^invX^^ST"'  "'"''°"  °^ 

My  patient  n^^fe  rhiTh^-f  '"^  *^«  '^t' 
We  had.  in  fact  tJTo^  "^'  ""^  *"  any  one. 

^^       •'"*^''^««l«yortwoattheinnbefJeshe 

K  JTf'^'*  '''"'*  ^'-  B«>kenshi«  is  thinldne?" 
knew  I  was  ^th^    pJl  "^"^^  *«  ''«.  "^d  that  he 

wi..T^X:e7irsS-n:^r"*"- 

she  listened  withc^t^,^   f    f  ^"^^^  ^°«°«d  »«. 
harfer  to  do  tCSLT^""*-  -  ^\  '"'^*  ''^^^  ^  the 

detected  benei?rt?etdf^?r^r''°''=°«^''  ^ 
his  communications.  ^^^*^ '°  '''^^  ^^  ""-^hed 

It  was  this  ardor,  as  well  a<!  cnmon,- 

"  ^^  something  else,  that  beean 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


t-^«  B«ke„ri,i«  w«  writing  letter,  on  her  ^ 
account.  Coming  in  one  day  hom  a  .oUtanr  walkl 
L^  cirn."'""'  fathe  hall  of  the  hotel.  Af^y! 
«^.^i.°'^  '^  ^^^'^  *°  "«  »*  the  office.  S 
r,^»  K  7^-  .^"^^^^K  Stacy  Grainger's  writing 
I  put  It  back  with  the  words:  »™ang, 

"Mrs  Brokenshire  will  come  for  her  letters  henelf." 
kn«^w   V       T^  *•  ^  "^^  "t  her  desk,  and  I 
S^^     T^'J"*  '•fo"^"'*  ^5^  ^^'^  feverishness  of  her 
^^   ThetruceofGodbeingpast.thebattlewasnow 

R,^^  ^^  °^'*  given  to  me  was  on  a  day  when  Mr 
Bmtemhn^  wrote  in  t<«ns  more  definite  than  he  had  «^ 
Z^^  ^  .'^  ^^^  '"**«•  '^'^^  to  her.  as  usual  ^ 
S,^  '*M*"*'u*'  '^'''  ^"^  «»«ide«te.  which  had  to  to 
admitted.    Now  he  could  deny  himself  no  longT^/^l! 

r  'S^n^l,'t""\"-  ^**--  •»«  ^-l^come  te 
appear  '°*  as  the  day  on  which  he  should 

twZ^ltS"'*"'  "^^^  '^'^^-  "Not  till  after  the 
"But  why  the  twenty-third?"  I  asked,  innocently. 
Because  I  say  so.  You'll  see."  Then  feaW  ao- 
P«-ntly.  that  she  had  beti^yed  something  shf^tt 
have  concealed,  she  colored  and  added,  l^ely.^t  \m 
give  me  a  little  more  time."  .  "™«y,    u  wm 

nn\^^  T^l-  ''"*  ^  P**"*"^  '"^-  The  aad  was 
no  date  at  aU  that  had  anything  to  do  with  us.  IfT 
had  significance  it  was  in  plans  as  to  which  she  had  not 
taken  me  into  her  confidence.  »  naa  not 

wh?;«!??; ''''""  ^  ^"^^  ^^  ""^«  ^-J^es  °i  the  maid 

who  did  the  rooms  as  to  the  location  of  the  Baptist  ohu«h 

301 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


"W^«  •rth  dne.  *•  wMt  to  know  th«t  for?"  WM  th. 

-tiis  would  be  as  iroliT^ir  ^  ^^""^  * '^^''*^/*'"» 
otirdnmi««,Md^»^"P'**"""y-    How  the  Pluto  o« 

that  once  the  «d^'±S\'^*«  |°  ^r.  Bn>to«hi« 
After  that  I  w^SlTJ^-  '  T^^  be  f«e  to  come, 
have  the  h«^^  tte^^J  I'f "" "  '^  ^  ^-^<i 
time.  eveniTgorthfd^  *"  ^*™**'  '"^  «  ««»«i 
I  ^dn't  get  the  chance  precisely  but  an  rt.  .  . 
June  I  received  a  rnvsterim^^T  ^  ™  '*''  °' 
•«!  had  neither  ^rr^^-  "  '^  ^^I^tten 
aessage  was  simple-  ^^  ""^  ''«"*t^-    ^^ 

thi^"  SoolfTe^'^^^''  r"««  «  *-  o'clock 

«3:^:?i  t"^^%?i-^i^  ^'^  p"-  ^  -  of 

thehour.  In Skt  ^.-^Ti  !  ^*.  **  ^"^  ^"t*' bef°« 
brick  buildit  wWr^!^*°^'*°*=~P'^*~™erof  a 

•Ste.  I  advertiseHy  amtltv^f  •*°'''  "^  °^ 
hats  which  warrant  t^^  ^  ^'^^^  *  '"^P'^y  of 
"vest  in  staSr^?l!r:f'°"?^°'^g°»ginsideto 

P       As  I  was  the  only  applicant  for  this 
30a 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

Engliih,  ain't  you?"  ^^ 

I  «i*id.  M  usual,  that  I WM  a  Canadian 

ne^edathi,ownpe«pica5r^' 
Got  your  number,  didn't  I?    All  v™.  n       , 
the  «ame  queer  way  o'  talldn'     T^  ^?J  ^"^  ''"^ 
fi^ojy  he„.-on]/«,,y^^^o  or  three  in  the  i«n- 

^-  SUcy  GrainS^;^°S.Sy  ^  '  "^  '^^■ 
bftrd  a  soft  felt  hat.  ^  ">  a  gray  spring  suit, 

•^C?ofy^*£roL:^-oryg^,^, 

betterif  wewallLuprTt^"-  ^^'^P' -«  could  talk 
«s^  to  make  it  awkward  fS^l"^"^  "  "°  ""^  *°  J«°w 

Walking  up  the  stn=et  he  made  his  «™n^    , 
I  had  partly  guessed  if  >-*       !       ^*"''  ^lear  to  me. 
P-ssedTfLS^r^^^??  ^« -d  a  word.    I  had 
hwnbled  in  the  way  hS\^„'^**^'"«  indefinably 
liKhtinhisxoma^^™^^^'  '^^'^  the  worriea 

hadtostooptowardrashfS"'''**^""'-^'^^ 

««ignation,  and  lid  I  iLt lee^^  ^^  '°  «*«?'  his 
sought  revenge  on  me  He^^f  ,^^  ^«  '^d  have 
because  untU  gott^g  4  fot  n^.  f  "  .*?"  '""^  ^^^^ 
^e  hadn't  ^own  wht^lr^Totve^^;^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

dearest  to  him  in  the  world  swept  off  the  face  of  the  earth 
after  she  was  actually  tmder  his  protection  was  enough  to 
drive  a  man  mad. 

Having  acquiesced  in  this,  I  considered  it  no  hann  to  add 
that  if  I  had  known  the  business  on  which  I  was  setting 
out  I  should  have  hardly  dared  that  day  to  take  the  train 
for  Boston.  Once  on  it,  however,  and  in  speech  with 
Mrs.  Brokenshire,  it  had  seemed  that  there  was  no  other 
course  before  me. 

"Quite  so,"  he  agreed,  somewhat  to  my  surprise.  "I 
see  that  now.  He's  not  altogether  an  ass,  that  fellow 
Strangways.  I've  kept  him  with  me,  and  little  by 
little—"  He  broke  off  abruptly  to  say:  "And  now  the 
shoe's  on  the  other  foot.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  tell 
you." 

1  walked  on  a  few  paces  before  getting  the  force  of  this 
figiu^  of  speech. 
"You  mean  that  Mrs.  Brokenshire — " 
"Quite  so.  I  see  you  get  what  I'd  like  you  to  know." 
He  went  on,  brokenly:  "It  isn't  that  I  don't  want  it  my- 
self as  much  as  ever.  I  only  see,  as  I  didn't  see  before, 
what  it  would  mean  to  her.  If  I  were  to  take  her  at  her 
word — as  I  must,  of  course,  if  she  insists  on  it — " 

I  had  to  think  hard  while  we  continued  to  walk  on  be- 
neath the  leafing  ehns,  and  the  village  people  watched  tjs 
two  as  city  folks. 
"It's  for  to-morrow,  isn't  it ?"  I  asked  at  last. 
He  nodded. 

"How  did  you  know  that?" 
"Near  the  Baptist  church?" 

"How  the  deuce  do  you  know?    I  motored  up  I;  re  last 
week  to  spy  out  the  land.    That  seemed  to  me  the  mcc". 
practicable  spot,  where  we  should  be  least  observed—" 
304 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


mi  when  I  said,  without  quite 


at  once  and  leave  it  all 


We  were  still  viiicE 
knowing  why  I  dii  ■  so: 

"Why  shouldn' ,  you  go  aw:*, 
tome?" 

"Leave  it  all  to  you?    And  what  would  you  do?" 

"  1  don't  know.  I  should  have  to  think.  I  could  do — 
something." 

"But  suppose  she's  counting  on  me  to  come?" 

"Then  you  would  have  to  fail  her." 

"I  couldn't." 

"  Not  even  if  it  was  for  her  good?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  even  if  it  was  for  her  good.  No  one  who  calls 
himself  a  gentleman — " 

I  couldn't  help  flinging  him  a  scornful  smile. 

"Isn't  it  too  late  to  think  in  terms  like  that?  We've 
come  to  a  place  where  such  words  don't  apply.  The  best 
we  can  do  is  to  get  out  of  a  difficult  situation  as  wisely  as 
possible,  and  if  you'd  just  go  away  and  leave  it  to  me — " 

"She'd  never  forgive  me.    That's  what  I'd  be  afraid  of." 

"There's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  in  doing  right,"  I  de- 
clared, a  little  sententiously.  "You'll  do  right  in  going 
away.    The  rest  will  take  care  of  itself." 

We  came  to  the  edge  of  the  town,  where  there  was  a  gate 
leading  into  a  pasture.  Over  this  gate  we  leaned  and 
looked  down  on  a  valley  of  orchards  and  farms.  He  was 
sufficiently  at  ease  to  take  out  a  cigarette  and  ask  my  per- 
mission to  smoke. 

"What  would  you  say  of  a  man  who  treated  you  like 
that?"  he  asked,  presentiy. 

"It  wouldn't  matter  what  I  said  at  first,  so  long  as  I 
lived  to  thank  him.  That's  what  she'd  do,  and  she'd 
do  it  soon." 

30$ 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

"And  in  the  mean  time?" 

ri^on't  see  that  you  need  think  at  that.    If  you  do 

He  groaned  aloud. 

"Oh,  rightbehMged!" 

"Yes,  there  you  go.  But  so  long  as  right  is  hanged 
^g  will  have  It  aU  its  own  way  and  you'll  both  get  into 
trouble.    Do  right  now — " 

"And  leave  her  in  the  lurch  ?" 

"You  wouldn't  be  leaving  her  in  the  lurch,  because 
youdbeleavmgherwithme.  I  know  her  and  can  tako 
t»re  of  her.  If  you  were  just  failing  her  and  nothine 
else-that  would  be  another  thing.  But  I'm  here.  U 
you  11  only  do  whafs  so  obviously  right,  Mr.  Grainger 
you  can  trust  me  with  the  rest." 

I  said  this  firmly  and  with  an  air  of  competence,  though. 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  no  idc .  of  what  I  should  havTto 
do.  What  I  wanted  first  was  to  get  rid  of  him.  Once 
^Mie  with  her,  I  knew  I  should  get  some  kind  of  iaspira- 

He  averted  the  argument  to  himself-he  wanted  her  so 
much,  he  would  have  to  suflfer  so  cruelly, 
"v^fl'*  f°.  '1"'^°°  as  to  your  suffering,"  I  said. 
YouU  both  have  to  suffer.  That  can  be  taken  for 
grated.  We're  only  thinking  of  the  way  in  which  you'll 
suffer  least."  jv^u 

luct^**  *™'"  ^^  *^™tted,  but  slowly  and  re- 
^  "I'm  not  a  terribly  rigorous  moraUst,"  I  went  on. 
irr.«?  °*  ^y^Pathy  with  Paolo  and  Francesca  and 
T^thPell&sandMaisande.  But  you  can  see  for  yourself 
ttiat  aa  such  instances  end  unhappily,  and  when  it's 
happmess  you're  primarily  in  search  of—" 
306 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


J  ,-J — .  ~'"~~'^y."   he   interposed,   with   tk«   o...^ 
'^^^^'^^l^df-eofthesaZSinX..*^*    *°^ 
weu,  then,  isn't  your  course  clear?     She'U  «««. 
be^happy  with  you  if  she  ms  the  n^an  J'r^^  :^ 

^  He  withdrew  his  dga«tt«  and  look«i  at  me,  wonder- 
''Kills  him?    What  in  thunder  do  you  mean?" 

Grainger,  was  young.  Mrs.  Bn,kenshire  was  yo^ 
Wou^dn  t  It  be  better  for  them  both  to^t  oTlif^Td 
:;S"  possibilities  that  I  didn't  cai.  to  ZT^^ 

motj^^While  shaldng  my  hand  to  say  g^^y  h^tlS 

My  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating. 

''He's-he's  never  said  so  to  me,"  I  managed  to  return 

but  more  weaHy  than  I  could  have  wishedL  ' 

WeUhewffl.    He's  all  right.    He's  not  a  fool     I'm 

talang  hm:  with  me  into  some  big  things-  so  tibTt'if  it^ 

the  money  you're  in  doubt  about-"  «>*!«*  >f  "  s 

I  had  recovered  myself  enough  to  say  • 

bee  vL""^'  °t\-*  ""•    ^^*  ^  y°"'"  «  his  confidence  I 
begyou  to  ask  him  to  think  no  more  about  it     I'mm 
i»K^~^  practicaUy  engaged-I  may  «J  tUt  I'm  « 
ga«:ed--to  Hugh  BnAwishS."  ^T  «»t  I  m  ea- 

307 


^^'■1 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"  I  see.    Then  you're  making  a  mistake." 

I  was  moving  away  from  him  by  this  time  so  that  I  gave 
Um  a  little  smiie. 

"I£  so,  the  drcumstanoes  are  such  that— that  I  must  go 
on  making  it." 

"  For  God's  sake  don't !"  he  called  after  me. 

"Oh,  but  I  mtist,"  I  returned,  and  so  we  went  our  ways. 

On  going  back  to  oiu-  rooms  I  found  poor,  dear  little 
Mrs.  Brokenshire  packing  a  small  straw  suit-case.  She 
had  selected  it  as  the  only  thing  she  could  carry  in  her 
hand  to-  the  place  of  the  enldvement.  She  was  not  a 
packer;  she  was  not  an  adept  in  secrecy.  As  I  entered 
her  room  she  looked  at  me  with  the  pleading,  guilty  eyes 
of  a  child  detected  in  the  act  of  stealing  sweets,  and  con- 
fessing before  he  is  accused. 

I  saw  nothing,  of  course.  I  saw  nothing  that  night.  I 
saw  nothing  the  next  day.  Each  one  of  her  helpless,  tm- 
skilful  moves  was  so  plain  to  me  that  I  could  have  wept; 
but  I  was  turning  over  in  my  mind  what  I  could  do  to  let 
her  know  she  was  deceived.  I  was  reproaching  myself, 
too,  for  being  so  treacherous  a  confidante.  All  the  great 
love-heroines  had  an  attendant  like  me,  who  bewailed 
and  lamented  the  steps  their  mistresses  were  taking,  and 
yet  lent  a  hand.  Here  I  was,  the  nurse  to  this  Juliet,  the 
Brangaene  to  this  Isolde,  but  acting  as  a  counter-agent  to 
all  romantic  schemes.  I  cannot  say  I  admired  mjrself; 
but  what  was  I  to  do? 

To  make  a  long  story  short  I  decided  to  do  nothing. 
You  may  scorn  me,  oh,  reader,  for  that;  but  I  came  to  a 
place  where  I  saw  it  would  be  vain  to  interfere.  Even  a 
child  must  sometimes  be  left  to  fight  its  own  battles  and 
stand  face  to  face  jvith  its  own  fate ;  and  how  much  more  a 
married  woman  I  It  became  the  more  evident  to  me  that 
308 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

tUs  was  what  I  could  best  do  for  Mrs.  Brokenshire  in  pro- 
portion as  I  watched  the  leaden  hands  and  feet  with  which 
she  earned  out  her  tasks  and  inferred  a  leaden  heart     A 
leaden  heart  is  bad  enough,  but  a  leaden  heart  offering 
its^  m  vain— what  lesson  could  go  home  with  more  effect? 
Dunng  the  forenoon  of  the  23d  each  little  incident 
cut  me  CO  the  quick.    It  was  so  njuve,  so  useless     The 
poor  darUng  thought  she  was  outwitting  me.    As  if  she 
was  stealing  it  she  stowed  away  her  jewehy,  and  when 
^e  could  no  longer  hide  the  suit-case  she  murmured  some- 
thing about  articles  to  be  cleaned  at  the  village  cleaner's 
I  took  this  with  a  feeble  joke  as  to  the  need  of  economy 
and  when  she  thought  she  would  carry  down  the  thing^ 
herself  I  commended  the  impulse  toward  exercise.     I  knew 
die  wouldn't  drive,  because  she  didn't  want  a  witness  to 
her  acts.    As  far  as  I  could  guess  the  hour  at  which  Pluto 
would  carry  off  Proserpine,  it  would  be  at  five  o'clock 
_  And  indeed  about  half  past  three  I  observed  unusual 
apis  of  agitation.    Her  door  was  kept  closed,  and  from 
behind  it  came  sounds  of  a  final  opening  and  closing  of 
cupboards  and  drawers,  after  which  she  emerged,  wearing 
a  dark-blue  walking-suit  and  a  hat  of  the  ;anotiire  style 
with  a  white  quill  feather  at  one  side.    I  stiU  made  no 
comment,  not  even  when  the  wan,  wee,  touching  figure  was 
ready  to  set  forth. 

If- her  first  steps  were  artless  the  last  was  moiB  arUess 
still.  Instead  of  going  off  casually,  with  an  impUsd  inten- 
tion to  come  back,  she  took  leave  of  me  with  tears  and 
protestations  of  affection.  She  had  been  harsh  witb  me 
she  confessed,  and  seemingly  indifferent  to  my  tender 
care,  but  one  day  she  might  have  a  chance  to  show  me  how 
genume  was  her  gratitude.  In  this,  too,  I  saw  no  more 
than  the  commonplace,  and  a  little  after  four  she  tripped 
3'-'9 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

down  the  avenue,  looking,  with  her  suit-case,  like  a  school- 
girl. 

I  allowed  her  just  such  a  handicap  as  her  speed  and  mine 
would  have  warranted.  Even  then  I  made  no  attempt  to 
overtake  her.  Having  previously  got  what  is  called  the 
lay  of  the  land,  I  knew  how  I  could  come  to  her  assistance 
by  taking  a  short  cut.  I  had  hardened  my  heart  by  this 
time,  and  whatever  qualms  I  had  felt  before,  I  was  resolved 
now  to  spare  her  no  drop  of  the  wormwood  that  would  be 
for  her  good. 

I  cannot  describe  our  respective  routes  without  append- 
ing a  map,  which  would  scarcely  be  worth  while.  It  will 
be  enough  if  I  say  that  she  went  round  the  arc  of  a  bow 
and  I  cut  across  by  the  string.  I  came  thus  to  a  slight 
eminence,  selected  in  advance,  whence  I  could  watch  her 
descent  of  the  hiU  by  which  the  lower  Main  Street  trails 
oflf  into  the  country.  I  could  follow  her,  too,  when  she 
deflected  into  a  small  cross-thoroughfare  bearing  the 
scented  name  of  Clover  Lane,  in  which  there  were  no 
houses;  and  I  should  still  be  able  to  trace  her  course  when 
she  emerged  on  the  quiet  country  road  that  would  take  her 
to  her  trysting-place.  I  had  no  intention  to  step  in  till  I 
could  do  it  at  some  spot  on  her  homeward  way,  and  thus 
spare  her  needless  humiliation. 

In  Clover  Lane  she  was  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of 
her  destination.  She  had  only  to  turn  a  comer  and  she 
would  be  in  sight  of  the  flowery  mead  whence  she  was  to  • 
be  carried  oflf.  It  was  a  pretty  lane,  grass-grown  and 
overhung  with  lilacs  in  full  bloom,  such  as  you  would 
find  on  the  edge  of  any  New  England  town.  The  lilacs 
shut  her  in  from  my  view  for  a  good  part  of  the  time,  but 
not  so  constantly  that  I  couldn't  be  a  witness  to  her 
soul's  tragedy. 

310 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Her  soul's  tragedy  came  as  a  surprise  to  me.    Closelvas 

^tl,  J'':*,r"'r'"^^'^p"«'«^8''tJ>«i*"ebi 

gan  to  slacken  tiU  at  last  she  stopped.  That  she  didn't 
st^  because  she  was  tired  I  could  judge  by  the  fact  that 
SSh  f  <^  ftock-stiU,  she  held  the  light  suit-case  in 
her  hand.  I  couldn't  see  her  face,  because  I  stood  under  a 
great  ehn,  some  five  hundred  yards  away 
Having  paused  and  reflected  for  the  space  of  three  or 

IZr"  w""'  f^l  ''""*  °"  ^^°'  *^*  ^''^  ^«^t  on  more 
dowly.  Her  hght,  tripping  gait  had  become  a  dragging 
of  lie  feet.  whJe  I  divined  that  she  was  still  pondeTg' 
^  It  was  n^lyfi,^  o'clock,  she  couldn't  be  afraid  of 
bemg  before  her  time. 

™-^^,'  "^f  ^i°PP^/E^.  setting  the  suit-case  down  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  She  turned  then  and  looked  back 
ov«-  the  way  by  which  she  had  come,  as  if  regretting  it 
Semg  her  open  her  smaU  hand-bag,  take  out  a  hanler- 

tf'jf  ^V*  "?,  ^^'  '^P'- 1  '^^  ^  she  was  repressing 
one  of  her  baby-hke  sobs.    My  heart  yearned  over  her! 
but  I  could  only  watch  her  breathlessly. 
She  went  on  again-twenty  paces,  perhaps.    Here  she 

down  on  It,  her  back  bemg  towaid  me  and  her  figure  al- 
most  concealed  by  the  wayside  growth.  I  could  only 
wonder  at  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  The  whole 
penod,  of  about  ten  minutes'  duration,  is  filled  in  my 
mmory  with  meUow  afternoon  light  and  perfumed  air 
and  the  evenmg  song  of  birds.  When  the  village  clock 
struck  five  she  bounded  up  with  a  star.. 

Again  she  took  what  might  have  been  twenty  paces 
and  agam  die  came  to  a  halt.  Dropping  the  suit-case  onc^ 
more,  she  clasped  her  hands  as  if  she  was  praying.    As,  to 

*'  311 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

the  best  of  my  knowledge,  her  prayers  were  confined  to  a 
hasty  evening  and  moming  ritual  in  which  there  was 
nothing  more  than  a  pious,  meaningless  habit,  I  could 
surmise  her  present  extremity.  Stacy  Grainger  was  like 
agodtoher.  If  she  renounced  him  now  it  would  be  an  aci 
of  heroism  of  which  I  could  hardly  beUeve  her  capable. 

But,  apparently,  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  couldn't 
renounce  him.  If  there  was  an  answer  to  her  prayer  it  was 
one  that  prompted  her  to  snatch  up  her  burden  again  and 
hurry,  with  a  kind  of  skimming  motion,  right  to  the  end  of 
the  lane.  It  was  to  the  end  of  the  lane,  but  not  to  the 
turning  into  the  roadway.  Once  in  the  roadway  she 
would  see— or  she  thought  she  would  see-Stacy  Grainger 
and  his  automobile,  and  her  fate  would  be  sealed. 

She  had  still  a  chance  before  hei— and  from  that  rutted 
sandy  juncture,  with  wild  roses  and  wild  raspberries  in  the 
hedgerows  on  each  side,  she  reeled  back  as  if  she  had  been 
struck.  I  can  only  tliink  of  a  person  blinded  by  a  flash 
of  ligthning  who  would  recoil  in  just  that  way. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  was  hidden  from  my  view  behind 
the  lilacs.  When  I  caught  sight  of  her  again  she  was  run- 
mng  like  a  terrified  bird  back  through  Clover  Lane  and 
toward  the  Main  Street,  which  would  take  her  home. 

I  met  her  as  she  was  dragging  herself  up  the  hill,  white, 
breathless,  exhausted.  Pretending  to  take  the  situation 
hghtly,  I  called  as  I  approached: 
"So  you  didn't  leave  the  things." 
Her  answer  was  to  drop  the  suit-case  once  again,  while, 
regardless  of  curious  eyes  at  windows  and  doors,  she  flew 
to  throw  herself  into  my  arms. 

She  never  explained;   I  never  asked  for  explanations. 
I  was  glad  enough  to  get  her  back  to  the  hotel,  put  her  to 
bed,  and  wait  on  her  hand  and  foot.    She  was  saved  now; 
31a 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Stacy  Gtainger,  too.  was  saved.  Each  had  deserted  the 
other;  each  had  the  .ame  crime  to  forgive.  From  that 
day  onward  she  never  spoke  his  name  to  me. 

But  as,  that  evening,  I  went  to  her  bedside  to  say  good- 
m^ht  she  drew  .ny  face  to  hers  and  whispered.  crypticaUy: 
It  wiU  be  all  right  now  between  yourself  and  Hueh. 
I  know  how  I  can  help. " 


CHAPTER  XX 


^R.  BROKENSHIRE  arrived  on  the  ,6th  of  Ju«. 

Mrs.  Brokenshms  remained  in  bed.  neither  tired 
^J?'  u  i  T'?'?'  ^^^'  '^^  withdrawn.  Her  «oul'. 
^l  ^  ^^t"^^  °°*  "^"^  ^^  ^<*  ^J'J«'=»i"K  retreat 
th««^h  Clover  T^e.    In  the  new  phase  on  whi5i3 

t^^^K^"  "^r**"^  *  '"'°^'  P^^'Wy  a  ^e,  where 
tiiere  had  been  only  a  lovely  child  of  arrested  development 
appmg  m  and  out  of  her  room,  attending  «pnetl/to  her 
^te,  I  was  able  to  note,  as  never  in  my  life  before,  the 
beneficent  action  of  suffering. 

and  ^«itly  vacated  my  room  in  favor  of  Mr.  Bn>kenshire. 
I  tooked  for  some  objection  on  telling  her  of  this,  but  she 
merely  bit  her  Lp  and  said  nothing.  I  had  asked  the 
^^  to  put  me  in  the  most  distant  part  of  the  most 
^!^u"^.°^  ^"^  ^°'^-  '^^  ^'^^<i  have  stolen  away 

Jt^«h^t  not  been  for  fear  that  my  poor.dearh^e 
lady  might  need  me. 

As  it  was,  I  kept  out  of  sight  when  Mr.  Biokenshire 
drov^  up  with  secretaiy,  valet,  and  chauffeur,  and  I  con- 

tnved  to  t^e  my  meals  at  hours  when  there  could  be  no 
encounter  between  me  and  the  great  personage.    If  I 
'"fitted  I  knew  I  could  be  sent  for;    butlhe  arth 
passed  and  no  command  fflme. 
314 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


Onoe  or  twice  I  got  .  u 
began  to  call  him— majesti 


distant 

noble,  stouter, 


njy  enemy,  m  I 
too,  and  walk- 


«^^U«  a  sli^t  wadie  <i"^VZ7MrCJTy: 
^^  ST^jSJ^'  "^  "oticeablet  ^ 

2rf^  fim  few  days  I  was  =^^2^^^^"^ 
ab  e  to  tell  whether  or  not  there  was  a  change  f OTtKlS 
« the  worse  in  his  facial  affliction  8^  lor  tbe  better 

L,  ^  ^  ^^^"^  *^*  a  sitting-room  h^  been 
^-^m  connection  with  the  tnoZLZ  S 
Brokenshire  and  I  had  occupied,  and  that  husband^i 

Idrew  the  mference  that,  however  the  soul's  tiage^^^ 
worbag,  It  was  with  some  reconciling  grace  that^  wH 

^^^f    /""  an  appeal  in  this  vain,fatu^,sufier: 
^B«agnate  of  a  co^  world's  making  that,  in  i^ite^ 
evwythiAg,  touched  the  springs  of  pity 
Jr  ^ff*^*/  "^  ~°*"^*  "°*  to  be  sent  for-and  to 
SL^*  ^^'^'f  "^y  or  two  my  own  ^^^ 
«^  down   and   I   enjoyed   the   delight   of  ha,^ 
nottmg  on  my  nund.     It  was  ertmorfinary  how^ 
mote  I  could  keep  myself  while^XTlZ  nS 
with  my  supenots.  especially  when  they  kept  thm 
^,'«^tl«^  their  side.     I  had  deciTed  ^tht^ 
rf  July  as  the  date  to  which  I  should  remain      im« 
^  no  demand  for  my  services  by  that  time  I  n^ 
to  consider  myself  free  to  go.  ^^ 

But  events  were  preparing,  had  long  bee«  prep«mg. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

which  changed  my  life  as,  I  ntppoM,  they  changed  to  • 
greater  or  less  degree  the  majority  of  lives  in  the  world 
It  was  curious,  too.  how  they  arranged  themselves,  with 
a  neatness  of  coincidence  which  weaves  my  own  oma\] 
drama  as  a  visible  thread— visible  to  me,  that  i»-in  the 
vast  tapestry  of  human  history  begun  so  far  back  as  to  be 
time  out  of  mind. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  Monday  the  apth  of  June, 
1914-  Having  secured  a  Boston  morning  paper,  I 
had  carried  it  off  to  the  back  veranda,  which  was  my 
favonte  retreat,  because  nobody  else  liked  it.  It  was  just 
outside  my  room,  and  looked  up  into  a  hillside  wood,  where 
there  were  birds  and  squirrels,  and  straight  bronze  pine- 
trunks  wherever  the  sunlight  fell  aslant  on  them.  At  long 
intervals,  too,  a  partridge  hen  came  down  with  her  little 
brood,  clucking  her  low  wooden  cluck  and  pecking  at 
tender  shoots  invisible  to  me.  till  she  wandered  off  once 
more  into  the  hidden  depths  of  the  stillness. 

But  I  wasn't  watching  for  the  partridge  hen  that  after- 
noon.  I  was  thrilled  by  the  tale  of  the  assassination  of  the 
Archduke  Franz  Ferdinand  and  the  Duchess  of  Hohen- 
berg,  which  had  taken  place  at  Sarajevo  on  the  previous 
day.  Millions  of  other  readers,  who.  no  more  than  I.  felt 
their  own  destinies  involved  were  being  thrilled  at  the  same 
moment.  The  judgment  trumpet  was  sounding— only 
not  as  we  had  expected  it.  There  was  no  blast  from  the 
sky— no  sudden  troop  of  angels.  There  was  only  the 
soundless  vibration  of  the  wire  and  of  the  Hertzian  waves- 
there  was  only  the  casting  of  type  and  the  rattling  of  in- 
numerable  reams  of  paper;  and.  as  the  Bible  says,  the 
dead  could  hear  the  voice,  and  they  that  heard  it  stood 
still;  and  the  nations  were  sununoned  before  the  Throne 
"that  was  set  in  the  midst."  I  was  summoned,  with 
316 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

The  paper  had  fallen  to  my  knee  when  I  wa.  startled  to 
Dn«ed  entirely  m  white,  with  no  color  in  his  cosh^«^ 
nw  «ocks,  handkerchief,  and  tie,  he  would  have  been  tt,. 
f^^  *?r  '^^  "^'^^"^  exquisite  ha^^  n^bl 
£h?of'"^e'"  ^r^.^  ^  ""^  --'^  he  «u1^ 
H^flii  T^^  V^?^  '^  "^  °°*  stumbled  on  me  aai- 
S^l  i"^  by  the  way  in  which  he  liftedapLt^ 

^^ir^St7e-^;-rrc^S 

edWfS?4"'*'''"^^^*^-'-*h-P"ft- 
"Be  good  enough  to  stay  where  you  are"  he  «m, 

T^i^l^'^r'''  "^ "« had^^«  toT; 

1  VB  some  thmgs  to  say  to  you  " 

Too  fiightened  to  make  a  further  attempt  to  move  I 

rt.  The  afternoon  being  hot.  and  my  veranda  lackine  air 
which  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  it  was  Irft  ta^f  T' 
-^  his  brew  with  the  violet  l^^H^i,^ 
«.  enonjious  monogram  was  embreidered  in  wWtT   I 

JSon  bu'?')^  "L*"  "^  "°*  °'^'y  ^  his  W 

m^h^^      *  ^™  *^  '*°*^  contortion  of  his  face 
H«hand  went  up  to  the  left  cheek  as  if  to  hold  it  in  pl^" 

^t^Z"^"^^'^'^'^-    When,atla^,Te 
^  there  was  a  stiffness  in  his  uttei^ioe  suggestivi  of 

aa^^ection  extending  now  to  the  Hp.  or  the  toa^ 
I  want  you  to  know  how  much  I  appreciate  the  help 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

you've  given  to  Mrs.  Brokenshire  during  hei^her"-  ^ 
had  a  difficulty  in  finding  the  right  worti— "durii^  her 
indisposition,"  he  finished,  rather  weakly. 

"I  did  no  more  than  I  was  glad  to  do,"  I  responded,  as 
weakly  as  he. 

"Exactly;  and  yet  I  can't  allow  sudi  timely  aid  to  go 
unrewarded." 

Iwasalarmed.  Grasping  the  arms  of  the  chair,  I  braced 
myself. 

"  If  you  mean  money,  sir — " 

"No;  I  mean  more  than  money."  He,  too,  braced  him- 
^^-  "I — I  withdraw  my  opposition  to  your  marriage 
with  my  son." 

The  immediate  change  in  my  consciousness  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  dissolving  view.  The  veranda  faded  away, 
and  the  hillside  wood.  Once  more  I  saw  the  imaginary 
dining-room,  and  myself  in  a  smart  little  dinner  gown 
seating  the  guests;  once  more  I  saw  the  white-enameled 
nursery,  and  myself  in  a  lace  peignoir  leaning  over  the 
bassinet.  As  in  previous  visions  of  the  kind,  Hugh  was 
a  mere  shadow  in  the  background,  secondary  to  the  home 
and  the  baby. 

Secondary  to  the  home  and  the  baby  was  the  fact  that 
my  object  was  accomplished  and  that  my  enemy  had  come 
to  his  knees.  Indeed,  I  felt  no  particular  elation  from  that 
element  in  the  case;  no  special  sense  of  victory.  Like  so 
many  realized  ambitions,  it  seemed  a  matter  of  course, 
now  that  it  had  come.  Nevertheless,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
for  my  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  the  future  I  must  have 
a  more  definite  expression  of  surrender  than  he  had  yet 
given  me. 

I  remembered  that  Mrs.  Brokenshire  had  said  she  would 
help  me,  and  could  imagine  how.  I  summoned  up  every- 
318 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

thing  within  me  that  would  rank  as  force  of  character 
speaking  quietly.  "«racier, 

"I  diould  be  sorry,  sir,  to  have  you  come  to  this  dedsioa 
against  your  better  judgment." 

"If  you'll  be  kind  enough  to  accept  the  fact,"  he  said. 
^^,    we  can  leave  my  manner  of  reaching  it  out  of  the 


In  spite  of  the  tone  I  rallied  my  resources. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  presumptuous,  sir;  but  if  I'm  to 
entw  your  family  I  should  like  to  feel  sure  that  you'll 
receive  me  whole-heartedly." 

"My  dear  young  lady,  isn't  it  assurance  enough  that 
Irecaveyouatallf    When  I  bring  myself  to  that— " 

..3'  P'*^  '*°°'*  ^^"^  I  <»°'t  appreciate  the  sacrifice." 

Then  what  more  is  to  be  said  ?" 
"Butthesacrificeisthepoint.    No  girl  wants  to  become 
^  of  a  family  which  has  to  make  such  an  effort  to  take 

OCT. 

Tliere  was  already  a  whisper  of  insecurity  in  his  tone 
Evra  so,  I  can't  see  why  you  shouldn't  let  the  effort  be 
ourafeu-.    Smce  we  make  it  on  our  own  responsibility— " 
I  d(»'t  care  anything  about  the  responsibiHty,  sir. 
All  I  m  thmkmg  of  is  that  the  effort  must  be  made." 
"  But  what  did  you  e:q)ect  ?" 

.  11  "^y?'*  ^^  ^^  ^  expected  anything.  If  I've  been 
of  the  shghtest  help  to  Mrs.  Brokenshire  I'm  happy  to  let 
the  service  be  its  own  reward." 

"But  I'm  not  It  isn't  my  habit  to  remain  under  an 
obligation  to  any  one." 

"Nor  mine,"  I  said,  demurely. 

He  stared. 

"What  does  that  mean?    I  don't  follow  you." 

"  Perhaps  not,  sir;  but  I  quite  follow  you.  You  wish  me 
319 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

to  understand  that,  in  spite  of  my  deficiencies,  yoa  accept 
me  as  your  son's  wife— for  the  reason  that  you  can't  help 
yourself." 

Two  sharp  hectic  spots  came  out  on  each  cheek-bone. 

"Well,  what  if  I  do?" 

"I'm  far  too  generous  to  put  you  in  that  position.    I 
•/couldn't  take  you  at  a  disadvantage,  not  even  for  the  sake 
of  marrying  Hugh." 

I  was  not  sure  whether  he  was  frightened  or  angry,  but 
it  was  the  one  or  the  other. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that,  now— now  that  I'm 
ready—" 

"That  I'm  not?  Yes,  sir.  That's  what  I  do  mean  to 
-say.  I  told  you  once  that  if  I  loved  a  man  I  shouldn't  stop 
to  consider  the  wishes  of  his  relatives;  but  I've  repented  of 
that.  I  see  now  that  marriage  has  a  wider  application 
than  merely  to  individuals ;  and  I'm  not  ready  to  enter  any 
family  that  doesn't  want  me." 

I  looked  aS  into  the  golden  dimnesses  of  the  hillside 
wood  ia  order  not  to  be  a  witness  of  the  struggle  he  was 
making. 

"And  suppose" — it  was  almost  a  groan — ^"and  suppose 
I  said  we — wanted  you?" 

It  was  like  bending  an  iron  bar;  but  I  gave  my  strength 
to  it. 

"You'd  have  to  say  it  differently  from  that,  sir." 
,     He  spoke  hoarsely. 

"  Differently— in  what  sense?" 

I  knew  I  had  him,  as  Hugh  would  have  expressed  it, 
where  I  had  been  trying  to  get  him. 
"  In  the  sense  that  if  you  want  me  you  must  ask  me." 
He  mopped  his  brow  once  more. 
"I — ^I  have  asked  you." 

jao 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

not  Xl'^" ''"  ""^"^  ^ ''«^*^-    ^*'* 

^^eads  of  per^iration  were  again  standiiig  on  his  fore- 

"Then  what— what  would  be— enough '" 
A  woman  can't  marry  any  one  unless  she  does  it  as. 
somethmg  of  a  favor. "  !«>e  aoes  ii  as- 

He  drew  himself  up. 

"Do  you  remember  that  you're  talking  to  me'" 
to  in«^;  ^iJ^^u  '^'^^"^  I  do  remember  it  that  I  have 
to^msist.    W.th  anybody  else  I  shouldn't  ha-^  to  be  sa 

If  trtif  *  r^"^  ^f^eele.  and  this  time  I  watched  him. 
K  his  wife  had  made  the  conditions  I  guessed  at  I  had 
no^gtodobutsitstin.  Grasping  the^SS;  2? 
he  hatf  rose  as  rf  to  continue  the  interview  no  furtherbS 
^ediate  y  saw  as  I  inferred,  what  that  woiS^SJt 
to^  He  fell  back  again  into  the  creaking  depths  of  the 

'"What  do  you  wish  me  to  say?" 

But  his  staicken  aspect  touched  me.  Now  that  he 
UZ"^  J°  come  to  his  knees.  I  had  no  hear^ 
to  force  him  down  on  them.     Since  I  had  gained  mv 

Ethiopian  change  his  skin. 

T  ,"°^=:,T  ^'^^^  ^^  '*'"^  *=^^'  ^^  sudden  emotion 
I  leaned  toward  him.  clasping  my  hands.  "I  ^  you  do 
want  me;  and  smce  you  do  I'll— I'll  come  " 

th^t^  Tf^J^f  *»»«^°n.  I  becanie  humble  and 
thankful  and  tactful.    I  appeased  him  by  saying  I  w^ 

thought  tiiat  he  was  to  be  reconciled  with  Hu^  •  and  I 
mqmredforMrs.Brokenshire.    Leading  up  to'^  ^tJ 

321 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

tion  with  an  air  of  guilelessness,  I  got  the  axmret<t  wu 

watching  for  in  the  ashen  shade  that  settled  on  his  face 

I  fot:get  what  he  repUed;  I  was  reaUy  not  Mstening  I 
was  calling  up  the  scene  in  which  she  must  have  fulfilled 
her  promise  of  helping  Hugh  and  me.    Prom  the  some- 

thmg  crushed  in  him,  as  in  the  case  of  a  man  who  knows  the 
worst  at  last,  I  gathered  that  she  had  made  a  dean  breast 

ofjt.  It  was  awesome  to  think  that  behind  this  immacu- 
late white  swt  with  its  violet  details,  behind  this  pink  of 
the  old  beau,  behind  this  moneyed  authority  and  this 
power  of  dictation  to  which  even  the  mighty  sometimes 
had  to  bow,  there  was  a  broken  heart. 

He  knew  now  that  the  bird  he  had  captured  was  nothine 
but  a  captured  bird,  and  always  longing  for  the  forest 
That  his  wife  was  wiUing  to  bear  his  name  and  hve  in  his 
house  and  submit  to  his  embraces  was  largely  because  I 
had  induced  her.  Whether  or  not,  in  spite  of  his  pompous- 
ness,  he  was  grateful  to  me  I  didn't  know;  bttt  I  guessed 
that  he  was  not.  He  could  accept  such  benefits  as  I  had 
K«ured  him  and  yet  be  resentful  toward  the  curious  provi- 
dOTce  that  had  chosen  me  in  particular  as  its  instrument 
l  came  out  of  my  meditations  in  time  to  hear  him  sa> 
that,Mrs.Brokenshire  being  as  well  rested  as  she  was, there 
would  be  no  further  hindrance  to  their  proceeding  soon 
to  Newport. 

,     "And  I  suppose  I  might  go  back  to  my  home,"  I  ob- 
Ijserved,  with  no  other  than  the  best  intentions. 

He  made  an  attempt  to  r^iain  the  authority  he  had  just 
lOTieited. 
"What  for?" 

"To  be  married,"  I  acplained-" since  I  am  to  be 
married." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  married  there  ?" 
332 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^•^Wouldn't  it  be  the  most  natural  thing?" 

It  wouldn't  be  the  most  natural  thing  for  Hugh." 
A  man  can  be  married  anywhere;  whereas  a  wnn,p„ 
?W  :  ^T"^"*  ^  her  Z  neeijs  a^'^' 

me  effort  at  a  faint  smile  drew  ud  the  mrr-^,  „*  i.- 
mouth  and  set  his  face  awiy.  ^        "^"  °^  '^' 

"You'll  excuse  me,  my  dear"— the  onifhof  ~  j 
jumo— "if  T  nnrr^M  ™  .         epithet  made  me 

jump      u  1  correct  you  on  a  noint  of  test/,     t-  »,  • 

SeT  ""^^^  ^'^'^  "-y  m  lis  mStS 
the  hne  at  anythmg  like  parade." 

I  know  my  eyebrows  went  up. 

"Parade?    Parade— how?" 

The  painful  Httle  smile  persisted 

J7^^^^^  .^°°^'  ''^^  *«y  ^^t  to  war  had  a 
custom  of  brmging  back  the  most  conspicuouHf  X^ 

T^riS°^^*^-^^«-^^^*«^2-^ 

"OhI  I  understand.    But  vou  scp  «iV  +»,.> _, 

doe^'tholdinthiscase.b^rnoTe'oT;  ffSfS^ 
l^-a^^^moreaboutHughthanthefLt"^;^';^ 

The  crooted  featmies  went  back  into  repose. 

iney  d  know  he  was  my  son." 
I  continued  to  smile,  but  sweetly 

sonS'i!^'  '\f  .  T""^  *^*  '^^  ^^  somebody's 

You  d  be  quite  safe  so  far  as  that  went.  Though  I  do^t 
hve  many  hundreds  of  miles  fi«n  New  York^Sd  weL 
fairly  avihzed,  I  had  never  so  much  as  heard  Cna^e  S 
Brokenshire  till  Mrs.  Rossiter  told  me  it^  hL^  °^ 
^Z^:r^  Yousee.then.thatthere'db:^^^ 
ofmyleadmgacaptiveintrimnph.  Noonelknowwo^ 
323 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

give  Hugh  a  second  thought  beyond  being  nioe  to  ItomMi 
IvasmanTing."  — — — 

That  he  was  pleased  with  this  etplanation  I  cwaot 
affinn,  but  he  passed  it  over. 

"I  think,"  was  his  way  of  reqwnding,  "that  it  will  be 
better  if  we  consider  that  you  belong  to  us.  Till  your 
niamage  to  Hugh,  which  I  suppose  will  take  place  in  the 
autunm,  youTl  come  back  with  us  to  Newport.  There 
wll  be  a  whole  new— how  shall  I  put  it?-a  whole  new 
phase  of  life  for  you  to  get  used  to.  Hugh  will  stay  with 
us,  and  I  shaU  ask  my  daughter,  Mrs.  Rossitcr.  to  be  your 
hostess  till — " 

As,  without  finishing  his  sentence,  he  rose  I  foUowed  his 
^ple.  Though  knowing  in  advance  how  futile  would 
be  fte  attempt  to  present  myself  as  an  equal,  I  couldn't 
submit  to  this  cahn  disposition  of  my  Hberty  and  person 
without  putting  up  a  fight. 

•'I've  a  great  preference,  sir-if  you^U  aUow  me-tor 
bemg  married  in  my  own  home,  among  my  own  people 
and  m  the  old  parish  church  in  which  I  was  baptized.  I 
«aUy  have  people  and  a  background;  and  it's  possible 
that  my  sisters  might  come  ovei^-" 

Tie  hand  went  up;  his  tone  put  an  end  to  discussion 

I  thmk,  my  dear  Alexandra,  that  we  shaU  do  best  in 
considermg  that  you  belong  to  vs.  You'll  need  time  to 
grow  accustomed  to  your  new  situation.  A  step  back- 
ward now  might  be  perilous." 

My  fight  was  ended.  What  could  I  do?  I  listened  and 
submitted,  while  he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  Mrs.  Broken- 
shire  would  wish  to  see  me  during  tiie  day,  that  Hugh 
would  be  sent  for  and  would  probably  arrive  tiie  next  after- 
Boon,  and  tiiat  by  the  end  of  the  week  we  should  all  be 
settled  m  Newport.  There,  whenever  I  felt  I  needed  in- 
324 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

rtruction,  r  was  not  to  be  ashamed  to  ask  for  it     M«i 

I  ^dn  t  understand,  and  he  knew  I  c»uld  count  on  i^ 
Brokenshire's  protection.  ^^ 

anSiS^"'"^  ^*^  ^  ^"-J  --1  «y  pride 
As  for  Mre.  Brokenshire's  protection,  that  was  settled 

young  women  do  when  their  emotions  outnm  their  rx^Z 
ofexpiession.    She  caUed  me  Mix  and  begged  me  t^to^ 
a  name  for  her  that  would  combine  the  Sty  ofB^^, 
^oth^withourstandingasfriend,.  Tlo^SSSi 
SghLd  M^'^'^res.  with  which  she  wa^ 

„ofi  ^^  °^-^  *°^«  '^'^  *•>«»  that  evening,  nomi- 
n^ybecauselwas  too  upset  by  alllhad  lived  thLX> 

bear  the  tho^ht  of  Mr.  Brokenshire  calling  me  his  dear 
Al«andrat^cem  the  same  day.  Once  L  mSe^ 
blood  nm  cold.  His  method  of  shriveling  up  a  nai^Z 
^y  pronounang  it  is  something  t_^t  trLcends  Z 

CZrJ,T"^i,  HehadruinedthatofAdarewithJ 
^.  and  now  he  was  completing  my  confusion  at  being 

cafled  after  so  lovely  a  creature  as  our  queen.  IW 
always  admitted  that,  with  its  stately.  r^^Jj^ 
Alexandra  ^  no  symbol  for  a  plain  Vi^U^S^- 
but  when  Mr.  Brokenshire  took  it  on  his  Hps  and  LT^' 
meh«dearIcouldhav«criedoutformeroy.  SoIhS^S 
t^M\'"r^i"^'^^  '^owly^n^taSg'^ 
what  Mr.  Brokenshire  described  as  "my  new  situation  " 

I  was  meditatmg  on  it  still  when,  in  the  com*  of  the 
foUowmg  afternoon,  I  was  sitting  in  a  retired  grove  3  S^ 
3^5 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

Ulliide  wood  waitinc  for  Hugh  to  oome  and  find  me.  He 
was  to  airive  about  three  and  Miladi  was  to  tell  himwhete 
Iwaa.  In  our  crowded  little  inn,with  its  crowded  giounda, 
nooks  of  privacy  were  rare. 

I  had  taken  the  Boston  paper  with  me  in  ortler  to  get 
further  details  of  the  tragedy  of  Sarajevo.  These  I  foond 
absorbing.  They  wove  themselves  in  with  my  thoughts  of 
Hugh  and  my  dreams  of  our  life  together.  An  artide  on 
Serbia,  which  I  had  found  in  an  old  magazine  that  morn- 
ing, had  given  me,  too,  an  understanding  of  the  situation 
I  hadn't  had  before.  Up  to  that  day  Serbia  had  been  but 
a  name  to  me;  now  I  began  to  see  its  significance.  The 
story  of  this  brave,  patient  little  people,  with  its  one 
idea— an  idSefixe  of  libertjr— began  to  move  me. 

Of  all  the  races  of  Europe  the  Serbian  impressed  me  as 
the  one  that  had  been  most  constantly  thwarted  in  its 
natural  ambitions— struck  down  whenever  it  attempted  to 
rise.  Its  patriotic  hopes  had  always  been  inconvenient 
to  some  other  nation's  patiiotic  hopes,  and  so  had  to  be 
blasted  systematically.  England,  France,  Austria,  Tur- 
key, Italy,  and  Russia  had  taken  part  at  various  times  in 
this  circumvention,  denying  the  fruits  of  victory  after 
they  had  been  won.  Serbia  had  been  the  poor  little 
bastard  brothe-  of  Europe,  kept  out  of  the  inheritance 
of  justice  and  freedom  and  commerce  when  others  were 
admitted  to  a  share.  For  some  of  them  there  might 
have  been  no  great  share;  but  for  little  Serbia  there  was 
none. 

It  was  terrible  to  me  that  such  wrong  could  go  on, 
generation  after  generation,  and  that  there  should  be  no 
Nemesis.  In  a  measure  it  contradicted  my  theory  of 
right.  I  didn't  want  any  one  to  suffer,  but  I  asked  why 
there  had  been  no  suffering.  Of  the  nations  that  had 
326 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

»«nh«d  h«  and  kept  her  dismembered 
Pro»P«ww.    Prom  Serbia's  point 


of 


dis- 
most  were 


thelp 


'  view  I  couldn't 
-j^t^^^u^S  wiin  the  hand  that  had  struck  down  at 

«™pcact  mere  could  be  no  adequate  revenge  for  centuries 
n^,„7^  ^  committed,  nations  should  sin  and  be  Jm- 

™~*^  ^    '*"*  °^  ^^^  ae^st  the  influences 

arwais.  Perhaps  I  was  only  clutching  at  whatever  T 
^.r:!"""^^  -<l-tlaastIcould4^T^S^J 
ae  was  brave  and  generous,  and  where  there  was  ini^tirfi 
^^t  would  be  among  th,  fim  to  be  sS^'bT" 

^tas  stocky  figure  movmg  lower  down  among  the  pine 

I  caught  sight  of  him  long  before  he  discovered  me,  and 
couJd  make  my  notes  upon  him.  I  could  even  make  mv 
notes  ui«n  myself,  not  whoUy  with  my  own^pZ^  "^ 
^toobusmess-Iike.tooc»ol.    ThenTwas  noCgTpoJ 

qmdcened  heart-throb.    I  would  have  given  it  the  m^ 
3»7 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

when  I  nw  Hnfh't  pinched  face  and  the  furbU»<l*n 

spring  suit  he  had  worn  the  year  before   "" '"""•^'"P 

It  was  not  the  fact  that  he  had  won,  it  the  year  before 

that  gave  me  a  pang;  it  was  that  he  must  have  wcmit 

!rf  *°.'*,''°rtJ»  noticmg.  But  anything  not  plainly 
opulent  m  Hugh  smote  me  with  a  sensed  g,dlt.  It  3 
l^easJybeattributedtomyfault.    Icoul^eaJL^ 

^r^iJ*^'**^"''"'"^"-  I-idashe^ 
P«>«ched:  "Th«  man  has  sufiered.    He  has  suffered^ 

myacc«mt.    All  my  life  must  be  given  to  mald,^  ^ 

ImakenoaitempttoteUhowwemet.    It  was  much  as 

TpSto ll""  ^f.  *^*^°"-  '«'*P*  that  S^ 
2fw  !l  '  ^  ^^  '^^  ^^  ™« '"  Ws  anns  it  was 
^1  !J*rT^  °^  possession  which  had  never  hitherto 
belonged  to  hm,  There  was  nothing  for  me  but  to  let 
myself  go,  and  lie  back  in  his  embiace 

I  <^e  to  myself,  as  it  were,  on  hearing  him  whisper, 
with  his  face  close  to  mine:  ""i^r. 

_ J  You  witch!    Youwitcht    How  did  you  ever  manage 

I  made  the  necessity  for  giving  him  an  explanation  the 
excuse  for  working  myself  free.  ^^ 


"I  didn't 


nwaageit.    It  was  Mrs.  Biofcenahire," 


He  cried  out.  incredulously 

"Oh  no  I    Not  the  madam!" 

"Yes,  Hugh.    Tt  was  she.    She  asked  him.    s 
have  begged  him.    That's  all  I  can  tell  you  about 

He  was  even  more  incredulous. 

"Then  it  must  have  been  on  your  account  rather  than 
onmiae;  you  can  bet  your  sweet  life  on  that!" 
3»8 


She  must 
it." 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

"Httgh,  darlinj;,  die's  fond  of  you.  She's  fond  of  v». 
•n.    If  you  could  only  have-"  »«>  •  «»<I  of  you 

"We  couldn't."  Fte  the  first  tfaae  he  showed  siena  of 
"toittmg  me  into  the  family  ««,«  of  disg^ce^^Tt™ 
ever  hear  how  dad  came  to  narry  her  r^  ^ 

J  S^hf  **  T"!^*^^  '^  ««*«• ««'  «»>t  «>«  ~«Jdn't 
put  the  blame  for  that  on  her. 

t,-"/"i''  *'!*'*  ''^  ™<«  PuM  with  him  than  we've  had  " 
he  declared  res^tfully.  "You  can  see  that Tyle  way 
he  s  given  m  to  her  on  this— "  "j- we  way 

a  J^lirr  *''  P°'""*'  ''°^'^'  ^-J  we  talked  of 

LEf         '^*?°::-    ^«»»  *at  we  went  on  to  the 

wbject  of  our  mamed  life,  of  which  his  father   in  tt! 

.    hasty  .nter..-,ew  of  half  a,,  hour  before,  had  brieflyirtcS 

Sr  """i'xr;  ^  P'^  '^  *°  '^  f°""d  for  Hugh  fnIS 
house  of  Meek  &  Bn.kenshii«;  his  allowance  7as  to  hi 
nused  to  hvelve  or  fifteen  thousand  a  ye^  wlwc:^  S 

S?  ^-^fl!"'  **''  ^'^«'  «•  f"  «=  Hugh  could  W 
but  It  nught  be  m  October.    We  should  bf  granted  S 
haps  a  three  months'  trip  abroad  with  a  «^u,r!^^^ 
York  before  Christmas.   "  "°™^' '""^  "  «t^  to  New 

He  gave  me  these  details  with  an  excitement  besoeakin^ 

mire^S^'".    It— sytoseethat/afS^' 
moffl^  rebelhon,  he  was  eager  to  put  his  head  under  ^o 

tolSr^T'^f^    His  instinct  in  tl^^sLt 

tnemseh-^free.    I  could  best  compare  him  to  a  horse  who 
or  one  glorious  half-hour  kicks  up  his  heek  ^T^^ 

^afest  ^hereof  blessedness.    Under  the  Brokenshire  yoke 

c;S't^:;.lT;^  S^^-^ -°^  ^^-welS 
v/uoouu  a  year,  witnout  that  onerous  responsi- 
3»9 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


Ja^^l^^  *°  ^J''  tfc«  "rt  «rf  our  liv«.  little  AM, 
wmbeto  get  away  with  our  thousand  doll««  a  month  I 
guess  we  can  do  that— what?  W»  .h.v*  """"■•  * 
■ave  becau»  )«  tt./  J^  .  "*■"»"  t  even  have  to 
■aye^oecause  in  the  natural  course  of  events-"  He  Wf 
tt«.  reference  to  his  father's  demise  to  go  «^^  hi.  h  J^n 

of  self-congratulation.    "But  we've  -^1^  VZtu        . 
vn?    xir.N^  J ^i       .  .  ^  pttuea  it  off,  haven  t 

eudd Jy  <^r^,M  ^  """  *°  ''«*P  you"  He  asked, 
wS?  rd  ^iJTv^  you.  come  to  know  the  madam  sc^ 
weuf  I  d  never  had  a  hint  of  Jf  v~.  j  "~*">^  «» 
things  awful  doser*-  Y«>  *>  ke*P  some 
I  made  my  answer  as  truthful  as  I  could, 
nus  was  nothing  I  could  tell  vou  W«»i,  xr 
IJtWhi,.  was  sorry  for  me  ever^ce'^t  ^f in  ^el^I 
port.    She  never  dared  to  say  anything  aboutrt^!! 

iahersle^^^  ^°^  to  me  hke  a  woman  walking 
thll^l'^^P"*^-    She's  beginning  to  understand 

330 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

1^  ^ -k  ^  ^  ^.tain;^  j^jSK 

We  discussed  this  theme  in  its  various  aspects  while  th- 
•fternoon  light  tu^ed  the  pine  tnmksT^d tf  into 
ojunu«  of  «d.goId,  and  a  soft  wind  soothed  ^  S^ 
b«Wc«nells.  Bi«l.  flitted  and  fluted  overhe^,l^d 
n^«d  then,  a  squte*!  darted  up  to  chaUenge  us  witktte 
^?t  '^r^"^^"^  »^  ««le  nose.  I  chose  what  I 
thought  a  favorable  moment  to  bring  before  Hueh  tte 
matter  that  had  been  so  summarily  shflved^  SXt£ 
I  wilted  «,  much  to  be  married  among  my  oro  n^^ 
aadfrom  what  Icxmld  call  my  own  home  ^  '^'•' 
as  child-like.  ■B^de^part,  amaU  blue  eyes  leganJed  me 
withgrowtngastonishmentaslmademy^ntl^ 

For  Heaven's  sake,  my  sweet  litUe  Alix   what  rf« 
you  want  that  for?    Why.  we  can  be  ma^S  fa^W 

^^emphads  on  the  word  Newport  was  as  if  he  had  said 

noZTto  ml^  "^'  "'^'  '^^'  N<-I«rt  means 

"  It  will  jolly  well  have  to  if—" 

"^^.'^r^°^^r^'>^<^<^lot.    Ifyouweremamane' 
^l^^:^"^  ^•'^  certainly  go  to  Gold^^ 

"Ah.  but  that  would  be  differenti" 
"  Different  in  what  way?" 
He  colored,  and  grew  confused. 
"Well,  don't  you  see?" 

331 


THE   HIGH  HEART 
"No;  I'm  afraid  I  don't." 
"Oh  y«,  you  do.  Kttle  Alix,"  he  smiled,  cajdiaifly. 

bang-up  weddmgs,  as  it  is.    Of  course  we  caa't-«ad  we 

fr.  7^*  '*•    ^"*  *^'y'"  "^^  *«  'l«=«t  tWng  by  us.  now 
that  dad  has  oome  round  at  all.  and  let  people  L Lt  S 

3^  came  from-Hahfax.  or  whe«vBr  it  is-it  would  put 
us^ack  ten  years  with  the  people  we  want  to  keep  up 

I  .ubnutted  ^.  because  I  didn't  know  what  else  to 
da    I  submitted,  and  yet  with  a  rage  which  was  the  hotter 

Sn^^.w^'T^  ^"^  P^'*  ""^^  't  «>  ^y  for 
C^r^  ^  ''°  P^"^*'  '^  '^  «°'^««1  to  none. 
»7^  7^^ """  °°  """^  ^  *•>*  ''^y  <^  antecedents  than 
tf  I  h^  be«n  a  new  creation  on  the  day  when  I  first  met 

^of  birth  as  firmly  as  if  they  had  been  minor  (in 
^ties  My  maxnage  to  Hugh  might  be  valid  in  the 
q«  of  the  law.  but  to  them  it  would  always  be  more  or 
tes  inoiganatic.  I  could  only  be  Duchess  of  Hohenbeix 
to  this  yomig  prmce;  and  perhaps  not  even  that^^e 
w«  noble-a&Z.  as  they  call  it-at  the  least;  while  I  was 
Mwdy  a  nursemaid. 

But  I  made  another  grimace-and  swallowed  it  I 
could  have  broken  out  with  some  vicious  remark,  which 
would  have  bewildered  pcK,r  Hugh  beyond  express^o^^l 
made  no  change  m  his  point  of  view.  Even  if  it  re- 
Leved  my  pent-up  bitterness,  it  would   have   left   me 

•S?^.  wl'""'"^'^'  ^^'  ^«  I  was  to  many  him. 
^ydisturb  the  peace?  And  I  owed  him  too  muZot  t<^ 
many  hm.:  of  ttat  I  was  convinced.  He  had  been  kind 
to  me  from  the  first  day  he  knew  me;  he  had  been  tme  to 
332 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

me  in  ways  in  which  few  men  would  have  been  true  To 
go  bade  on  him  now  would  not  be  simply  a  chanw  at 
nuad;  It  would   be  an  act  of  cruel  tr^^ery^   J 

SLI^^-^°  ''°*^  b"t  80  oa  with  it.  My  d;bt 
could  not  be  paid  m  any  other  way.  Besides.  I  d^ued 
to  my^  w.th  a  catch  in  the  thrt«t,  I-I  W  toTl 
hadsaid  It  so  many  times  that  it  must  be  true 

for  tte  httle  dmner  at  which  I  was  to  be  included Ttihe 

He  looked  at  me  with  the  mild  wondering  whidi  alwars 
made  his  expression  vacuous.  ^ 

"Isn't  what  terrible.?" 
''Why,  the  assassinations  in  Bosnia." 
"OhI  I  saw  there  had  been  something" 

«l^^!i ^  "'^-    "^^'^  ""^  "^  *«  «««t  moment- 
pus  ttmgs  that  have  ever  happened  in  history  " 

What  makes  you  say  that?"  he  inquired,  turning  on 

tered  between  the  pine  trunks 

^^  to  admit  that  I  didn't  know.    I  only  fdt  it  in  my 

.  tI,^!i!S,Mr*^T-"''^'^.'^°^^  something  of  the  sort  down 
thw-kilhng  kmgs  and  queens,  or  something?" 

Oh.  not  like  this!"    I  paused.    "You  know,  Hugh, 

''  Is  it  ?"    He  took  out  a  dgarette  and  Ht  it 
In  the  ardor  of  my  sympathy  I  poured  out  on  him  some 
of  the  information  I  had  just  acquired. 
333 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"And  we're  all  responsible,"  I  was  finisMng;  "Boyish, 
French,  Russians,  Austrians — " 

"We're  not  responsible— we  Americans,"  he  broke  in, 
quietly 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  If  you  inherit  the 
civilization  of  the  races  from  which  you  spring  you  inherit 
some  of  their  crimes;  ai^d  you've  got  to  pay  for  them." 

'Not  on  your  lifel"  he  laughed,  easily;  but  in  the  lau^ 
there  was  something  that  cut  me  more  deeply  than  he 
knew. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


gUT  once  ws  w«ie  settled  in  Newport.  I  almost  foi^ot 
rZ  ^A  T^X  "^S^J^'"-     The  world,  it  seem^to 

S^n^J^^  '*■  *°°=  '*  ^  P«^  *at°  history. 
ft^  Ferdinand  and  Sophie  Chotek  being  dead  and 
ouned.  we  had  gone  on  to  something  else 

Personally  I  had  gone  on  to  the  readjtostment  of  my  life. 
IwaswithEthelRossiterasaguest.  Guest  or  retainer, 
however,  made  httle  difference.  She  treated  me  just  a^ 
More— with  the  same  detached.  Uve-and-let-Uve  Idnd- 
hness  that  dropped  into  the  old  habit  of  making  use  of  me 
Ihkedthat.  It  kept  us  on  a  simple,  natural  footing.  I 
could  see  myself  writing  her  notes  and  answering  her  tele- 
phone rails  as  long  as  I  lived.  Except  that  now  and  then 
when  die  thought  of  it,  she  called  me  Alix,  instead  of 
Miss  Adare.  she  might  still  have  been  paying  me  so  much  a 
month. 

"WeU.  I  can't  get  over  father,"  was  the  burden  of  her 
congratulations  to  me.  "I  knew  that  woman  could  turn 
him  round  her  finger;  but  I  didn't  suppose  she  could  do  it 
^  that.    You  played  your  cards  well  in  getting  hold  of 

"I  didn't  play  my  cards,"  was  my  usual  defense,  "be- 
cause I  had  n  me  to  play." 

"T^ien  what  on  earth  brought  her  over  to  your  side?" 
Life." 

335 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Life— fiddlesticks!  It  was  life  with  a  good  deal  of  hdp 
tram  Alix  Adaie."  She  added,  on  one  occasion:  "Why 
didn't  you  take  that  young  Strangways— frankly,  now?" 
"Becaijse,"  I  smiled,  "I  don't  believe  in  polyandry." 
"But  you're  fond  of  him.  That's  what  beats  me! 
You're  fond  of  one  man  and  you're  marrying  another;  and 
yet—" 

I  don't  know  what  color  I  turned  outwardly,  but  within 
Iwasfire.    It  was  the  fire  of  confusion  and  not  of  indigna- 
tion.   I  felt  it  safest  to  let  her  go  on,  hazarding  no  i«marks 
of  my  own. 
"And  yet-^what?" 

"And  yet  you  don't  seem  like  a  girl  who'd  marry  for 
moneys— you  really  don't.    That's  one  thing  about  you." 
I  screwed  up  a  wan  smile. 
"Thanks." 

"So  that  I'm  all  in  the  dark.    What  you  can  see  in 
Hugh— " 

"  What  I  can  see  in  Hugh  is  the  kindest  of  men.    That's 
a  good  deal  to  say  of  any  one." 

"Well,  111  be  hanged  if  I'd  marry  even  the  kindest  of 
mta  if  it  was  for  nothing  but  his  kindness. " 

The  Jack  Brokenshires  were  jovially  non-committal, 
letting  it  go  at  that.  In  offering  the  necessary  good  wishes 
Jade  contented  himself  with  calling  me  a  sly  one;  while 
Pauline,  who  was  mannish  and  horsey,  wrung  my  hand  till 
she  almost  pulled  it  off,  remarking  that  in  a  family  like  the 
Brokenshires  the  natural  principle  was.  The  more,  the 
merrier.  Acting,  doubtless,  on  a  hint  from  higher  up,  they 
included  Hugh  and  me  in  a  luncheon  to  some  twenty  of 
their  cronies,  whose  shibboleths  I  didn't  understand  and 
among  whom  I  was  lost. 
As  far  as  I  went  into  general  society  it  was  so  unobtni- 
336 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

aively  that  I  might  be  said  not  to  have  gone  at  all     I  mad. 

To  tr*":  r  ^^^"^"^  bride  of  ^ugh  iLij 

To  the  great  fact  of  my  engagement  few^eople  pdd^v 

oTfSn"?  I^°"  "'°  "'^  *°  '*  didTwitTtSe^ 
offorgettingjtthemmuteafterwarf.  It  came  to  me  with 
^e  pam  that  in  his  own  circle  Hugh  was  ..gaSed  mS 
orless  as  a  nonentity.  Iwasa"queerCanadL."  Ne^ 
port  prated  to  me  a  harf,  polished  exterior,  like  a  porl 
ImwaU.  It  was  too  high  to  climb  over  and  taffoX^ 
nooks  ^aevices  in  which  I  might  find  a  niche.  Sfo^e 
-goffered  me  the  sUghtest  hint  of  inciviUty-or  of"! 

jyVT''^.^^'"^  ^  °^'^  *°  do  and  to  think  of  " 
Mrs.  Brokenshire  explained  to  me.  "They  know  too 
many  people  abeady.    Their  Uves  are  too  ^IMon^ 

ofit.Qmet  good  bieedmg  isn't  strikingenough.     Clever- 

scandals  outs.de  their  own  close  corporation.  All  Z 
s^"~l  waited  while  she  fonnXSfher  opSo^ 

Z^.^'^^Zr  ^f^^^-^  America  at  ia^ 
we  had  the  right  sort  of  women." 
"And  haven't  you?" 

fr^^:J^  '"°^^  are-how  shaU  I  say?-too  amall- 
toopawch^-too  provincial.  They've  no  national  out- 
look; they  ve  no  authority.  Pew  of  them  know  how  to 
use  money  or  to  hold  high  positions.  Our  men  Zl? 
e^  turn  to  them  for  advice  on  important  things,  becaui 
they've  rarely  any  to  give."  "^gs,  oecause 

^ZZ^^^^^^  "^  ""^  more  of  the  reflecting 

SS^:        '^"^^^''^°^•'^^^^''^- 

337 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"  Then,  couldn't  you  show  them  how  i" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No;  I'm  an  American,  like  the  rest.  It  isn't  in  me. 
It's  both  personal  and  national.  Cissie  Bosoobel  could  do 
it— not  because  she's  clever  or  has  had  experience,  but 
because  the  tradition  is  there.    We'\'e  no  tradition." 

The  traditioa  in  Cissie  Boscobel  became  evident  on  a 
day  in  July  when  she  came  to  sit  beside  me  in  the  ground<i 
(tf  the  Casino.  I  had  gone  with  Mrs.  Rossiter,  with  whom 
I  had  been  watching  the  tennis.  When  she  drifted  away 
with  a  group  of  her  friends  I  was  left  alone.  It  was  then 
that  Lady  Cecilia,  in  tennis  things,  with  her  racket  in  her 
hand,  came  across  the  grass  to  me.  She  moved  with  the 
^lendid  careless  freedom  of  women  who  pass  their  lives 
outdoors  and  yet  are  trained  to  drawing-rooms. 

She  didn't  go  to  her  point  at  once;  she  was,  in  fact,  a 
mistress  of  the  introductory.  The  visits  she  had  made  and 
the  people  she  had  met  since  our  last  meeting  were  the 
theme  of  her  remarks;  and  now  she  was  staying  with  the 
Burkes.  She  would  remain  with  them  for  a  month,  after 
which  she  had  two  or  three  places  to  go  to  on  Long  Island 
and  in  the  Catskills.  She  would  have  to  be  at  Strath-na- 
Cloid  in  September,  for  the  wedding  of  her  sister  Janet 
and  the  young  man  in  the  Inverness  Rangers,  who  would 
then  have  got  home  from  India.  She  would  be  sorry  to 
leave.  She  adored  America.  Americans  were  such  fun. 
Their  houses  were  so  fresh  and  new.  She  doted  on  the 
multipHcity  of  bathrooms.  It  would  be  so  horrid  to  live 
at  Strath-na-Cloid  or  Dillingham  Hall  after  the  cheeriness 
of  Mrs.  Burke's  or  Mrs.  Rossiter's. 

Screwing  up  her  greenish  cat-like  eyes  till  they  were  no 
more  than  tiny  slits  with  a  laugh  in  them,  she  said,  with 
her  delidously  incisive  utterance: 
338 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"So  you've  done  it,  haven't  you?" 

''You  njean  that  Mr.  Broken«hire  has  come  round." 
thiZT      T'^^.  ««»«  to  me  the  most  wonderful 
thmgleverheardofi    It's  like  a  mi«de,  isn't  it?    Y^ 

iS'lSt^t'T^'^^'^r'*^-"    SheleanL^J 
^^t^  fem  ^ds  g«spmg  the  racket  that  lay  aoxjss 

T^«  splendid!    You're  not  a  bit  like  a  Colonial,  are 

Since  she  meant  well,  I  mastered  my  indignation. 
pr^J^e'^'-'    ^•--^'^^- Colonial,  and  very 
'* Fancy !    And  are  all  Colonials  like  you ?" 
|AU  that  aren't  a  great  deal  cleverer  and  better  " 
Fancy!"  she  breathed  again.    "ImustteU  them  when 
L'TiT;  ,^^y'l°"'t'-o-it.youknow."    Shfad"^ 
in  a  sligh  .Aange  of  key:  "I'm  so  glad  Hugh  is  going  to 
have  a  wife  like  you."  ^   ^ 

Jl  7%°^-?^  *°°f"*  *°  ^^y'  ""^'^  be  much  better  off 
wiUi  a  wife  hke  you";  but  I  made  it: 

"What  do  you  think  it  will  do  for  him?" 

i  J^!r"  '"^^  ^,°"*-    ""«'>  '^  'P^^^^  in  Ws  way- 
3^^_you  ar^-<«ly  he  needs  bringing  out.  don't  you 

I  h!JI!^"X^'^^  ^"^^^  °"*  in  the  last  ten  months," 
1  decl^,  ,„th  some  emphasis.    "See  what  he's  done-" 

^^/^i.y%}^^^'^P^iioe,mb^i  You  managed 
that.  You  11  manage  a  lot  of  other  things  for  hinC^ 
I  m^  go  back  to  aie  other.."  she  continued,  getting  u"' 
They  re  waitmg  for  me  to  make  up  the  set.  But  I 
w^ted  toteU  you  I'm-I-m  glad-with^out-withoutly 
— any  reserves. "  -^ 

I  think  there  were  tears  in  her  nanow  eyes,  as  I  know 
339 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

thne  were  in  my  own;  bat  she  be«t  mich  a  hacty  retrett 
that  I  ooald  not  be  very  sure  of  it. 

MiMredBrokeoshirewasasttrprisetome.  Ihadhafdty 
ever  seen  her  till  she  sent  for  me  in  order  to  talk  about 
Hugh.  I  found  her  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  dim  comer  of  her 
big,  massively  furnished  room,  her  face  no  more  than  a 
white  pain-pinched  spot  in  the  obscurity.  After  having 
kissed  me  she  made  me  sit  at  a  distance,  nominally  to 
get  the  breeze  through  an  open  window,  but  really  that  I 
might  not  have  to  look  at  her. 

In  an  unnaturally  hollow,  tragic  vcnce  she  said  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  her  that  Hugh  should  have  got  at  last  the  wom- 
an he  loved,  especially  after  having  made  sudi  a  fight  for 
her.  Though  she  didn't  know  me,  she  was  sure  I  had  fine 
qualities;  otherwise  Hugh  would  not  have  cared  for  me  as 
he  did.  He  was  a  dear  boy,  and  a  good  wife  could  make 
mudi  of  him.  He  lacked  initiative  in  the  way  that  was 
unfortunately  common  among  rich  men's  sons,  especially 
in  America;  but  the  past  winter  had  shown  that  he  was 
not  deficient  in  doggedness.  She  wondered  if  I  loved  him 
as  much  as  he  loved  me. 

There  was  that  in  this  suffering  woman,  so  far  with- 
drawn from  our  struggles  in  the  world  outside,  whidi 
prompted  me  to  be  as  truthful  as  the  circumstances  reo- 
dered  possible. 

"I  love  him  enough,  dear  Miss  Brokenshire,"  I  said, 
with  some  emotion,  "to  be  eager  ti  give  my  life  to  the 
object  of  making  him  happy." 

She  accepted  this  in  silence.  At  least  it  was  silence  for 
a  time,  after  which  she  said,  in  measured,  organ-like  tones: 

"We  can't  nr.j^  other  people  happy,  you  know.  We 
can  only  do  our  duty — and  let  their  happiness  take  care 
of  itself.  They  must  make  themselves  happy!  It's  a 
340 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

J««ri^.  Wliea  we  do  right  other  people  must  fflZ 
toe  best  they  can  of  it"  •  "Mt^o 

th^it  8  sometimes  so  hard  to  tea  what  is  right" 

it  ^^^r?  f^  !?  ^**^  "^  *"'=°"*-  The  voice,  when 
rt«me  out  of  the  dunness.  might  have  been  that  of  the 
PJrthianviipn  oracle.  The  utterances  I  give  were  not 
^^  consecutively,  but  in  answer  to  qu^^  Z 
observations  of  my  own. 

••Right,  on  the  whole,  is  what  we've  been  impeUed  to  do 
When  we  ve  been  conscientiously  seeking  the  best  way 
fri.^'^  *****  "^'  °^'^°  contradictory  and  bewildering 
f^.  and  cany  ta  to  a  certain  act.  or  to  a  certain  line  of 

^.J^  ''^'  *^'°:  ^  ^'^^'^  D°°'t  go  back. 
Dm  t  torture  yourself  with  questionings.  Don't  dig  up 
what  has  already  been  done.    That's  done!    Nottune 

^teke  m  It  hfe  jWU  take  can*  of  it.  .  .  .  Lifefa  not  a 
bhndnnpulseworkmg  blindly.    It's  a  beneficent.  «ctify- 

K.  fZ";.  Y'Jy'^'';.  ^'''  "  P«P«*^  enfolding. 
It  s  a  &e  that  ubhzes  as  fuel  everything  that's  cast  into 

pwssioothat  shedidn'thkemeorthat  she  didn't  trust  me 

id«that  th«  Brokenahiro  seeress,  this  suffering  priestess 
whose  whole  hf  e  was  to  Ue  on  a  couch  and  think,  and  think 

and  think,  had  reserves  in  her  consciousness  on  my  account 
waspamful.    I  said  so  to  Hugh  that  evening 

Ot,  you  mustn't  take  Mildred's  gassing  too  seriously" 
he  adv^d.    "Gets  a  lot  of  ideas  in  her  head;  but-pL 
thing-^hat  else  can  she  do?    Since  she  doesn't  Imow 
341 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

anything  about  real  life,  ahe  just  spins  theories  on  the 
subject.  Whatever  you  wsat  to  know,  little  Alk  m 
tell  you." 

"Thanks,"  I  said,  dryly,  exidaining  the  shiver  which  nm 
through  me  by  the  fact  that  we  were  sitting  in  the  loggia, 
in  the  open  air. 

"Then  we'll  go  in." 

"No,  no!"  I  protested.  "I  like  it  much  better  o«t 
here." 

But  he  was  on  his  feet. 

"We'll  go  in.  I  can't  have  my  sweet  little  Alix  taking 
cold.  I'm  here  to  protect  her.  She  must  do  what  I  tell 
her.    We'll  go  in." 

And  we  went  ia.  It  was  one  of  the  things  I  was  learn- 
ing, that  my  kind  Hugh  would  kill  me  with  kindness.  It 
was  part  of  his  way  of  taking  possession.  If  he  could  help 
it  he  wouldn't  leave  me  for  an  hour  unwatched;  nor  would 
he  let  me  lift  a  hand. 

"There  are  servants  to  do  that,"  he  would  say.  "It's 
one  of  the  things  little  Alix  will  have  to  get  accustomed 
to." 

"I  can't  get  accustomed  to  doing  nothing,  Hugh." 

"You'll  have  plenty  to  do  in  having  a  good  time." 

"Oh,  but  I  must  have  more  than  that  in  life." 

"  In  your  old  life,  perhaps;  but  everything  is  to  be  dif- 
ferent now.    Don't  be  afraid,  little  AUx ;  you'll  learn." 
^  "Learn  what?    It  seems  to  me  you're  taking  the  pos- 
sibility of  ever  learning  anything  away . " 

This  was  a  joke.    Over  it  he  laughed  heartily. 

"You  won't  know  yourself,  Uttle  Alix,  when  I've  had 
you  for  a  year." 

Mr.  Brokenshire's  compliments  to  me  were  in  a  similar 
vein.    He  seemed  always  to  be  in  search  of  the  superior 
34a 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

poBtion  he  had  lo8t  on  the  day  we  lat  looking  up  into  the 
hiltedewood.  Hi.  dear  Alexandra  must  ne4foS?te 
w«ame^ence.  In  being  rai«d  to  a  higher  lev^wa. 
to  watch  the  manner,  of  thoee  about  me.  I  was  to  coov 
them  as  pe^le  learning  French  or  Italian  try  to  cat<im 
acc«it  which  IS  not  that  of  their  mother  tongue.  They 
probab  y  do  :t  badly;  but  that  is  better  than  not  d^ 
rtataU  I«wldneverbeanEthelRossiteroraI>ais; 
Burke,  but  I  could  become  an  imitation.  Imitations S 
to  the  house  of  Bi  kenshiie  like  paste  diamonds  or^ 

gluepearls  my  gratitudeforthe  effort  they  made  in  accept- 
mg  me  had  to  be  the  more  humble. 

And  yet  on  occasions  I  tried  to  get  justice  for  myself. 

Im  not  altogether  without  knowledge  of  the  world, 

Mr.  Brokenshire."  I  said,  after  one  of  his  kindly,  condel 

sc«,ding  lectures.    "Not  only  in  Canada,  but  in  England 

a^to  some  shght  extent  abroad.  I've  had  opportuni^ 

"Yes,  yes;  but  this  is  diflEerent.  You've  had  op- 
Portamfaes  as  you  say.  But  the«  you  were  looldng 
on  from  the  outside,  while  here  you'U  be  Hving  from 
witnin. 

"Oh.  but  I  wasn't  looking  on  from  the  outside—" 
His  hand  went  up ;  his  pitiful  crooked  smile  was  meant 
to  express  tolerance.  "  You'U  pardon  me.  my  dear;  but 
we  gam  nothing  by  discussing  that  point.  You'U  see 
It  yourself  when  you've  been  one  of  us  a  Kttle  longer 
Me^tane.  if  you  watch  the  women  about  you  and  stuj 

We  left  it  there.  I  always  left  it  there.  Butldidberin 
to  see  that  there  was  a  difference  between  me  andtte 
women  whom  Hugh  and  his  father  wished  me  to  take  as 
my  models.    I  had  hitherto  not  observed  this  variation  m 

'3  343 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

*yi*— I  ""Sht  poMibly  ddl  it  this  diirtinction  between 
Mtional  idealt— during  my  two  yean  under  the  Stan  and 
Stripes;  and  I  find  a  difBculty  in  expressing  it,  for  the  rea- 
son that  to  anything  I  say  so  nuuiy  exceptions  can  be 
made.  The  immense  dass  of  wage-earning  women  would 
be  exceptions;  mothers  and  housekeepers  would  again  be 
exceptions;  exceptions  would  be  all  women  engaged  in 
political  or  social  or  phiknthropic  service  to  the  country; 
but  when  this  allowance  has  been  made  there  still  remain 
a  multitude  of  American  women  economically  independ- 
ent, satisfied  to  be  an  incubus  on  the  land.  They  diess, 
they  entertain,  they  go  to  entertainments,  they  live  graced 
fully.  When  they  can't  help  it  they  bear  children;  but 
they  bear  as  few  as  possible.  Otherwise  they  are  not 
much  more  than  pleasing  forms  of  vegetation,  idle  of 
body  and  mind;  and  the  American  man,  as  a  rule,  loves 
to  have  it  so. 

"The  American  man,"  Mrs.  Rossiter  had  said  to  me 
once,  "likes  figurines."  Hugh  was  a  rebel  to  that  doc- 
trine, she  had  added  then;  but  his  rebeUion  had  been  short- 
lived. He  had  come  back  to  the  standard  of  his  country, 
men.  He  had  chosen  me,  he  used  to  say,  because  I  was  a 
woman  of  whom  a  Socialist  might  make  Us  star;  and  now 
I  was  to  be  put  in  a  vitrine. 

Canadian  women,  as  a  class,  are  not  made  for  the  vitrine. 
Their  instinct  is  to  be  workers  in  the  world  and  mates  for 
men.  They  have  no  very  high  opinion  of  their  privileges; 
they  are  not  self-analytical.  They  rarely  think  of  them- 
selves as  the  birds  and  flowers  of  the  human  race,  or  as 
other  than  creatures  to  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel 
in  the  ways  of  which  God  made  them  mistresses.  Not 
ashamed  to  know  how  to  bake  and  brew  and  mend  and  sew, 
they  rule  the  house  with  a  practically  French  economy. 
344 


THE  HIGH  HEART 
is  bw«^  up  fe  that  way;  not  ignorant  of  books  or  of 
tSJ  r^^^iL*?*  "^^^  *•'•  -sumption  that  I  wa.  in  ^l 
worid  to  contnbute  something  to  it  by  my  usefulness  I 
^«»tributed  much.  Heaven  onl^  wj;  ^t  the 
onputoe  to  work  was  instinctive. 

And  M  Hugh-s  wife  I  began  tr,  .  .-  ),:.t  I  should  be  lifted 
h«h  and  dry  into  a  sphere  wh.  t.  '  ca  ^.  ,  ;!!  ^^ 
«tone^  I  d,ould  dr«s  and  I  <f,  .  ^  .„,,,,  /^U  I 
Aoud.«,use  myself  and  rr,l.,uiajK,..  f.  „  TuJ 
Ro-iterdid:  itwasallMrs. .  .  ..„„,,edi,-:;::„  "tfhrt 

ISJdltSere^^*--*"^^^ ------- 

It  was  a  kind  of  feminine  Nirvana.    It  oflfered  me  noth- 

towm  glonoudy.     The  wife  of  Larry  Strangways.  whj? 
ew  she  tun«d  out  to  be,  would  have  a  goal  befw^  h« 

•te«ag.    Hugh  Brokenshire's  wife  would  have  everything 

^e  would  have  nothing  to  do  but  think  and  think  and 
STZ^  h«^  to  not  thinking  at  all.  *Se^y 
•i»  J  ^  "''*"  "^^  ^««^  towanl  this  fate-  ani 
like  St.  Peter,  when  I  thought  thereon  I  wept  ^ 

I  had  teten  to  weeping  all  alone  in  my  pretty  room. 
^A  ooked  out  on  shrubberies  and  gar^LT  I  S 
^bably  have  shrubberies  and  gardens  like  them  s^e 
<lay  so  that  weepmg  was  the  more  fooKsh.  Every  one 
^n«^  me  fortunate.  All  my  Canadian  andl^g^ 
fr^^  of  me  as  a  tacky  girl,  and,  in  their  downrSh" 

practical  way,sa«lIwa8"doingverywellformyself" 
345 


I 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

Of  coarse  I  was-^hich  made  it  crtmiiial  on  tny  part 
art  to  take  the  Brokenshire  view  o£  things  with  eqtaaim. 
|ty.  Itriedto.  I  bent  my  wiU  to  it.  I  bent  my  spirit  to 
It.  In  the  end  I  might  have  succeeded  if  the  heavenly 
fanmpet  had  not  sounded  again,  with  another  blast  from 
Saiajevo. 


CHAPTER  XXn 
^S I  have  already  said,  I  had  almost  forgotten  Saraievo 

rc-^tert-i^"^f=; 

It  was  hke  that  first  disquieting  low  note  of  the  "Rh^l 

SlttTLt^lTdilh'^SrdJT^i '°- -^ 

^the  ena  of  the  olT^Jta^t  ^X^  ^^v^^' 
"What  does  it  mean?" 

between  a  laugh  and  a  look  of  tenor?  ""^  "inted  at 

brSf^fT*^  ^  "^"^  descending  the  Rossiter  lawn  on  a 
bnght  afternoon  near  the  end  of  July  CissiP  Ih« 
P-smg  ^U  some  of  the  Burkes,  in  ovef  rgrS",^ 
ard  us.  Had  we  seen  the  papers?  Had  we%3  tJl 
Austr^note?  Could  we  makerythinglt"  i^  ""' 
347 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  recafl  her  as  an  extraordiiumly  yivid  picture  agaiart 
the  background  of  blue  sea,  in  white,  witii  a  green-siBc 
tunic  embroidered  in  peacock's  feathers,  with  loi^  jade 
ear-nngs  and  big  jade  beads,  and  a  jade^irfored  plume  in  a 
black-lace  hat  cocked  on  her  flaming  hair  as  she  alone 
knew  how  to  cock  it.  I  merely  want  to  point  out  here 
that  to  Cissie  Boscobel  and  me  the  questions  she  asked 
already  possessed  a  measure  of  life-and-death  importance- 
while  to  Hugh  they  had  none  at  aU. 

I  remember  him  as  he  stood  aloof  from  us,  strong  and 
stocky  and  summer-like  in  his  white  flannels,  a  type  of  that 
safe  Mid  separated  America  which  could  afford  to  look  cm 
at  Old  World  tragedies  and  feel  them  of  no  pereonal  con- 
cern. To  him  Cissie  Boscobel  and  I.  with  anxiety  in  our 
eyes  and  something  worse  already  clutching  at  our  hearts 
were  but  two  girU  talking  of  things  they  didn't  under- 
stand and  of  no  great  interest,  anyway. 
uZ^^.„'^'^'  ^*^^  Alix!"  he  interrupted,  gaily. 
Cissie  win  excuse  us.  The  madam  is  waiting  to  motor  us 
over  to  South  Portsmouth,  and  I  don't  want  to  keep  her 
waitmg.  You  know,"  he  e-^plained.  proudly,  "she  thinks 
this  httle  girl  is  a  peach  1" 

Cissie  ran  back  to  join  the  Burkes  and  we  continued  our 
way  along  the  Cliff  Walk  to  Mr.  Brokenshire's.  Hugh  had 
come  for  me  in  order  that  we  might  have  the  stroU  to- 
gether. 

I  gave  him  my  view  of  the  situation  as  we  went  akmg 
though  m  It  there  was  nothing  original. 

"You  see,  it  Austria  attacks  Serbia,  then  Russia  must 
attadc  Austria;  in  which  case  Germany  will  attack  Runa, 
and  Prance  will  attack  Germany.  Then  England  wiU 
certainly  have  to  pitch  in." 

"But  we  won't.    We  shall  be  out  of  it " 
348 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


T^  complacency  of  his  tone  nettled  nie. 

But  I  sha'n't  be  out  of  it.  Hugh." 
He  laughed.  ^^ 

bowliB^'^.      "^ "°"  ■"  ■»  ™«  "««■  •  «l»pln  in  . 

^o^el?wit?:r  r'^^'u  "°*  '""^  -diae^nt^ 

-«i  a  ^^„,  ,„,er«t  in  th;  Si^T^^r^l  ^ 
349 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

«mbled-to  my  mind  at  least-the  interest  of  an  dgh- 
teenth-century  farmer's  lad  Mdted  at  a  cockfiriit.  It  was 
-^t  m  the  spirit  of  "Go  it.  old  boyl"  to  each  side 

Ci«;i'R*°°^K»f  "^/x  «B  Jt  ^  '^ther  on  ftat  to  which 
2«.eBosoobel  and  I  were  nationaUy  opposed;  but  this, 
we  agreed,  was  to  tease  ns.  So  far  as  opinions  of  his  own 
were  concerned  he  was  neutral.  He  meant  by  that  that 
he  d.dn  tc^  a  jot  who  lost  or  who  won.  so  lone  as  America 
was  out  of  the  fray  and  could  eat  its  br«ad  in  safety. 

There  are  more  important  things  than  safety."  I  said 
to  tarn,  scornfully,  one  day. 
"Such  as — " 

But  when  I  gave  him  what  seemed  to  me  the  truisms 
of  hfe  he  was  contented  to  laugh  in  my  face. 
Cissie  Boscobel  was  more  patient  with  him  than  T  was 

L  ^'^^^r^,^''"'^  "  ^^  ^""^^  th^t  splendid  tolerl 
aace  which  allows  to  others  the  same  Uberty  of  thinking 
thq.  dam  for  themselves;  but  in  this  instance  I  had  none 
otit.  Hugh  was  too  mudi  a  part  of  myself .  When  he 
said,  as  he  was  fond  of  saying,  "If  Gemiany  gets  at^ 
degenerate  old  England  she'll  crumple  hi  up,"  L^ 
Cissie  could  flmg  him  a  pitying,  confident  sSle,  with 
Zi^'^  ""  '*  whatever,  while  I  became  bitter  or 

Pwtunately,  Mr.  Brokenshire  was  called  to  New  York 
on  buaness  connected  with  the  war.  so  that  his  dear 
Alexandra  was  dehveied  for  a  while  from  his  daily  con- 
d«««^ns^    Though  Hugh  didn't  say  so  in  actual  words, 

«f  mTI^  .^*  ^"^^^  ^°^^  ^h«-  "^di  the  house 
ofMeek&Brokenshu^.  Of  the  vast  sums  it  would  handle 
a  conmnssion  would  stidc  to  its  fingers,  and  if  the  busmess 
grew  too  heavy  for  the  usual  staff  to  deal  with  Hugh's 
3  SO 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


own  enerpM  were  to  be  called  into  play     H«ft.*t.      u 
told  me,  had  said  sn     Tf ,,™-  i  j  t.       ^  ^'    ""  wther,  he 

had  1^  tte  haxdihood  toS^S.!^*  '"""■"'"^  ""* 

often  as  he  could.    ^e^uLT^^^ '^^ '"^  «* 

Rossiter,  between  him  and  W^dL       "^  ^  ^<1  J™ 
tiree  and  four  and  ^an^  1 T?  .  ,  aagaates,  between 
ceaseless  st^^^f  ^^^J  ^f  -  t^ether.  with  a 
women  knew  nothing     wrt°^     ""^"^  °*  '^'^^h  we 
bathed  at  BaileyrL  I  vS7  ^"^  ^"^  ^"°**««'  and 
livedinourown'ii^^tlSd^Spt^^^*  ^'^  '^°°'  ^«* 
interests  convulsing  tte  w^M  ^    '  •'*"*  °"'  *««>  the 
begun.    The  iS  Cii' r^'t;    f"""^  ^ad  not  yet 
Ainerica.  with  tht  s^  ^^e^^  ^  l^  appeals, 
mind,  was  stiU  undeft^  T        !^^«>-Pnissian  War  in 

give  its  philTt^^  S  ETn*^?  J'  '^'^  ^^ 
over.  °^  ™e  need  for  it  would  be 

too^re^L^ftl^S^^iS'T^'^l'^"-^^^ 
heart  that  acted  ra^  ,,,      .;    ^"^  '^'^  us,  it  was  the 

iatelligence^t   wtl^J^'-":!?'^^*-    ^o  far  as 

Britain  lifted  hShTdX,^"""^  *^''  °«'*  G^* 
That  was  a  mar^';^"^*".!  "-t-^  would  tremble. 

">und  us  should  talk  of^nemv-,^^  ""  **^*  P^'« 
was  just  coming  into  ^^w^^L>!^^"?'=y-  ^he  word 
^^r^li^we^in^Tekfirunri""^"-^-^-* 

"^irt'^irthriik^ss^S^^^-^^-'' 

turbed deliberation  aT^^tl^i'"*^  ^"^^  ^^ 
.  as  a  matter  that  was  nothing  to  them. 

o5* 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

Many  of  them  hoped,  and  hoped  KdmHy  that  the  «•<!. 
rep^sented  by  England.  R^  and  ^^^1^1  J 

s.t  down  to  eat  and  drink,  and  rise  up  to  play,  aTv^  weS 
d«ngat  the  mon^n,  while  nothing  LldV^ h!^  C 

Owing  to  our  kinship  in  sentiment.  Lady  Cissie  and  I 
^cl^r^ogether.  We  gave  each  other  HtsS^' 
tion  m  whid.  no  one  else  would  have  had  an  interest^ 
^^**-^^«**- fr<-  England;  I  f„«>  En^d  ^ 
C««da.  Her  brother  Leatherhead  had  been  ^de«d  to 
France  with  has  regiment-was  probably  there  hS 
^ther  Rowan^who  had  been  at  Sandhurst.  S^jot^ 
«»tmussion  The  young  man  her  sister  Janet  wTe^Led 
to  had  sailed  with  the  Ranger,  for  Marsehles  aX^'o 

^  t°ir  :.*'  ''■°°'  '"^^^'^  of  coming  home.  VbT^l 
get  leave  the  young  couple  would  be  married  hastily  S 
which  he  would  return  to  his  duty.     My  si^^  iS" 

s^L  C„T  J^  Tf  '"'^^^-  '^^^  '^"^band  of  my 
SSt^ZL  J"^.^^  ^  ''^  appointment  at  Gib^ 
Taltar,  had  been  ordered  to  rejoin  his  regiment-  and  he 
too,  would  soon  be  in  Belgium  =K™™^.   ana  he, 

From  Canada  I  heard  of  that  impulse  toward  recruiting 
whidi  was  thrilling  the  land  from  the  Island  of  vln^? 
m  the  Pacrfc.  to  that  of  Cape  Breton,  in  the  AtW^' 
^d  in  which  the  multitnd^^ere  of  oke  h^t^S^ 

came  from  banks  and  shops  and  mines.     They  tramoed 

HT£fBlr'?k'^°"''^J'^°"'^  Ungava^SS 
Hudson  Bay.    They  arrived  in  troops  or  singly  imcelled 

bynothu^  but  that  lovewhich  passes  the  love  of  w^^ 

the  love  of  race,  the  love  of  country,  the  love  of  ho^!^ 

3Sa 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


love  of  something  vast  and  intangible  and  inexn««w. 
that  comes  as  near  as  nossible  tn  tht^T  ^  ""s^PucaWe, 
almost  the  love  crf^"!^   *  *°  that  love  of  man  which  is 

this  Z/T^""  "^l^'  '^""^  '"y  countrymen  it  was 
t  aad  >t  was  nothing  short  of  this.    TliSw^  JZ 

^S£^ICw^  "^^^'^  *°  '"^^  south^^as  s£^ 
Snflif?S''"'"*'^*°°^°^'°f*«>thanto^ 

we  son  ot  Jesse,    as  a  king  gives  unto  a  king  " 
Men  are  wonderful  to  me— aU  men  of  an  «~.     in. 

-^redonptive  love  if  ever  there  was  one;   fc^^g^t^ 

ment  she  ever  made  on  the  s«b;ect^TralLro;:^: 
3  S3 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


—^r.  JSSSr  T^ ,'""^  ^"i" 

berin^^^tv     iJ^I?'^''°^^y:  his  father's  lum- 
scale-  S  E^i^i^^°"  ^^  ^^^^  ^^  I  could 

was  on  ^^^^1^  S  J  °^  ^l-"^-  or  stress  it 

let  me  say  in  passmg  ^Tw™^  ^  *°"*=^  *PP*^' 
could  not  resn^T?"  •*  ,!  ^"^  "^"^  ^'^  h™.  he 
^a  not  respond  to  it;  but  it  relieved  mv  renre^ 
emotions  to  send  it  out  on  the  wings  of  the  s^t.^H^ 
354 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


that  I  must  ha^i^ -^^^  ^'    I  could  only  «piy 

tat.  I. -ud.  I  ^s^srsiTS^s"'  ••  'r- 

decent  posfflble.    As  I  Hr«=c«j  t  ,      *"  **  t^'e  most 

never knov„,it-S^'^'^^?f°J^<«.  ^««  I  had 
"ing  on  the  t«kwh«  7^/        ^"'^  '*  ^^""^  that  ev«. 

I  nu^t  to'iS^i:'Xl''%^rM"«--y  heart, 
-inute  I  went  doLstLT  But  f^'S^^^  f  ^.^^  '*  the 
just  whae  I  was  fasteiZ^m  j^  ^  ''"'^  '°t«^. 

hat,  it  seemelS  2^f  ^  ft"™  ^"^  ^^^^  °"  "'y 
nate  passion  co^e^M":  S^.'^  '''  "^^  '^°^- 
^  Aadyet.afterhavingl'^XS«^ght. 

I  should  make  in  ri^H,^  f  ^  "'"^^^"P^'^hes 
P^e  hmi  up  forever,  he  never  men- 

o55 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


tionedlovetomeutan.    On  the  contrary,  he  hmi  „  thrt 

«.  When  he  came  forward  from  a  comer  of  the  long 
^itm'"^  "".*•  ««barra«ment  was  on  my  ^' 
heuI^r^hSST^t*^--"-^-^ 
I  tned  to  munaur  poUtely  that,  whatever  it  was,  I  wm 
t^  «e  hm*-^y  the  word,  refused  to  fonn  th^ 

dI2"'"^  ^  *~*i"  ">•«»«<».«  I  cast  about  me  for 
<»«>»■       It's  so  stuffy  in  here. " 

IM  *«jay  through  the  haU,  picking  up  a  roee<olored 

porasol  of  Mis.  Rossiter's  as  we  passed  the  umbrelhwtMZ 

How  much  money  have  you  got?"  he  asked,  abruptly, 

as  soon  as  we  were  on  the  terrace.  "™puy, 

iJ  "^^l*^  **°^  *°  «^*«"  «y  wits  fi«m  the  far  fields 
mto  which  they  had  wandered.  "«  xar  neios 

^^-jDoyou  mean  in  ready  cash?    Or  how  much  do  I  own 
"How  much  in  all?" 
I  told  himHust  a  few  thousand  dollars,  the  wwckace 

what  I  earned_,_was  about  four  hundred  dollars  a  year. 
JoJLr^    '    ..tt"^^'  ^  ""*  descended  the  steps  to  the 
lowert«ra«.    "How  soon  could  you  let  me  haveit?" 

the  ^  IT."^^  "  ''"  ^'  •^"'^  *«  '"'^  toward 

a^myfewc.ndsand  forward  me  the  proceeds.    Mr. 
Strangways  hmiself  said  that  would  take  a  week 

I  m  going  to  make  a  small  fortune  for  you,"  he  laughed 
^explanation.     "All  the  nations  of  the  eai^th  ar,tSn- 
iimg  to  send  to  us  for  munitions,  and  Stacy  GraiiS^ « 
3S6 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


There'll  be  •  denuad 
Only  till 


right  en  the  qwt  with  the  goods, 
for  tminitions  for  yean  to  con»— " 

"Oh  not  for  years  to  cornel"  I  eichumed. 
the  end  of  the  war."  "•«««. 

Biiii?"  "  n^  '^f  "  °°*  ^  '^^  ^' ' "  '» 'looted  frxan  the 
wfr.  Jl '  '  n'^^  "*  ^  ^y '»'»  by-telieve  mel 
Were  up  agamrt  the  .truggle  mankiad  has  been  getttae 

«i^ore^«nce  it  shad  a  history.  I  don't  waft  j^ 
to  n«ke  money  oiit  of  it;  but.  since  money's  to  be  rJZ 
Td^^n^l  hdp  Hiking  it-I  want  jx«  to  be  in  on  it." 
my  ^.    *^  '-=-'««««  I  had  something  else  on 

n!I^^^  ^^'^  ^'^  *^*  I'™  engaged  to  Hugh 
S^^.-    ''^"^o'-'^edbeforeTSlbackS 

thi7*t^  ^  ^  """^  **•    ^*''  "*•  '^^^'n  I'«  suaesting 

ftlinl^/r  r**  """"^  °^  y°"  own.  in  Ste  tS 

^iTv^^-  "/°"  '^°°'*  ^^^  ''  ">«  Brokenshi^ 
money  will  break  you  down." 

I  don't  know  what  I  said,  or  whether  I  was  able  to 
sayanythmg.  There  wks  something  in  tlTpScS 
caie-tafang  mterest  that  moved  me^ore  than  ^lo^ 

^^Z^.'^^'^^'^'-  HewasrenJnS 
=«  m  everythmg  but  his  protection.    That  was  go^ 

ZsZ^^r^j:: '"'' "" ""'  "''''^  '^•^  -^^  ^•- 

JZ^JX^^  We  must  have  said  something  as 
we  descended  the  slope;  I  must  have  stammered  some  fort 
of  appremtion.  All  I  can  dearly  remember  is  that  t 
we  reached  the  steps  going  down  to  the  ClifE  Walk  Hueh 
was  coming  up.  * 

I  had  forgotten  that  this  sort  of  encounter  was  possible 
3S7 


MICTOCOry  lESOlUTION   TBT  CHA>T 

(ANSi  ond  ISO  TEST  CHART  No   2) 


^  -APPLIED  IfVHGE    In 

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|! 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

I  had  forgotten  Hugh.  When  I  saw  his  innoeent,  blank 
face  staring  up  at  us  I  felt  I  was  confitMiting  my  doom. 

"Wdl!"  he  ejaculated,  as  though  he  had  caught  us  in 
some  criminal  conspiracy. 

As  it  was  fw  me  to  explain,  I  said,  limply: 

"  Mr.  Strangways  has  been  good  enough  to  ofiEer  to  make 
some  money  for  me,  Hugh.    Isn't  that  kind  of  him?" 

Hu|^  grew  slowly  crimson.  His  voice  shook  with  pas- 
sion.   He  came  up  one  step. 

"Mr.  Strangways  will  be  kinder  still  in  minding  his  own 


"Oh,  Hugh!" 

"Don't  be  oflfended,  Mr.  Brokenshire,"  Larry  Strang- 
waj^  said,  peaceably.  "  I  merely  had  the  opportunity  to 
advise  Miss  Adare  as  to  her  investments—" 

"  I  shaU  advise  Miss  Adare  as  to  her  investments.  It 
happens  that  die's  engaged  to  me!" 

"But  she's  not  married  to  you.  An  engagement  is  not  a 
marriage;  it's  only  a  preliminary  period  in  which  two  per- 
sons ^lee  to  consider  whether  or  not  a  marriage  brtween 
them  would  be  possible.  Since  that's  the  situatmn  at 
present,  I  thought  it  no  ha«n  to  tell  Miss  Adare  that  if  Ae 
puts  her  mcmey  into  some  of  the  new  projects  for  ammu- 
nition that  I  know  about—" 

"And  I'm  sure  she's  not  interested." 
Mr.  Strai^iwayB  bowed. 

"That  will  be  for  her  to  decide.  I  understood  her  to 
say — " 

"Whatever  you  understood  her  to  say,  sir.  Miss  Adare 
IS  not  interested!  Good  afternoon."  He  nodded  to  me 
to  come  down  the  steps.  "I  was  just  coming  over  for  yon. 
Shall  we  walk  along  together?" 

I  backed  away  from  him  toward  the  stone  balustiwte. 
3S8 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He'f^i^lf?^  ^  **"Hf  "^  ^'-  Stnmgway,  like  this. 
He  s^e  all  the  way  from  New  York  on  purpose  to-" 

tiJ^^./^  ^^^  ^  "^P^  '^^  pay  him  for  his 
time;  but  if  we're  gomg  at  all,  dear--" 

m^fl^rif.l^*  *^f  ^^  ^*^  Strangways  I  mastered 
my  wrath  at  this  insolence,  and  spoke  meekly 

.'.'1  ^'^'*  ^°^  ^*  ^"^  ^^  anywhere  in  particular." 
_  And  you  U  excuse  me,  Mr.  Brokenshire,"  our  visito- 
mterrupted. -'if  I  say  that  I  can't  be  dismissal  in  this  way 
by  any  one  but  Miss  Adare  herself.    You  must  rem^b,^ 

die  «ntyottrwrfe-that  she's  still  a  free  agent.     Perhaps. 
If  I  eiqjlain  the  matter  a  little  further—" 

H^  put  up  his  hand  in  stately  imitation  of  his  father 
Please!    There's  no  need  of  that." 

"Oh,  but  there  is,  Hugh!" 

"You  see,"  Mr.  Strangways  reasoned,  "it's  more  than  a 
question  of  making  money.  We  shaU  make  money,  of 
c«n»;  but  that's  only  incidental.  What  I'm  really 
askmg  Miss  Adare  to  do  is  to  help  one  of  the  most  gtorioM 
caases  to  whidh  mankind  has  ever  given  itsdf— " 

I  started  toward  him  impulsively. 

"Oh!    Do  you  feel  like  that?" 

"Not  like  that;  that's  aU  I  fed.  I  Uve  it!  I've 
no  otiier  thought." 

It  was  curious  to  see  how  the  force  of  this  all-absorbing 
topic  swept  Hugh  away  fixan  the  merely  personal  stand- 
point. 

"And  you  call  yourself  an  American?"  he  demanded 
iiotly.  ' 

"IraUmyselfaman.  I  don't  emiAasize  the  American 
Ifiis  thmg  transcends  what  we  call  nationality  " 

Hugh  diouted,  somewhat  in  tlM  tone  of  a  man  Mckinir 
■gainst  the  pricks:  ^^ 

»*  359 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


It's  got  nothing  to  do 


"Not  what  I  call  nationality! 
with  us." 

"Ah,  but  it  will  have  something  to  do  with  uS!  It  isn't 
m«ely  a  European  struggle;  it's  a  universal  one.  Sooner 
or  later  you  11  see  mankind  divided  into  just  two  camps  " 

Hugh  wanned  to  the  discussion. 

"Even  if  we  do,  it  stiU  doesn't  follow  that  we'll  aU  be  in 
your  camp. 

"That  depends  on  whether  we're  among  those  driving 
forward  or  those  kicking  back.  The  Amr  "^  people  haf 
been  m  the  first  of  these  cksses  hitherto;  it  ,^s  to 
be  seen  whether  .ot  it's  there  still.  But  if  it  isn't  as  a 
nation  I  can  tel  you  that  some  of  us  wiU  be  there  as  indi- 
victuals. 

Hugh's  tone  was  one  of  horror. 

''  You  mean  that  you'd  go  and  fight  ?" 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it  " 

into^^b'"''*"'*"^*"*°^'=°^*'^*°'««*ti««'- 

"  If  I  had  to  choose  between  being  a  traitor  to  my  coun- 
try Md  a  traitor  to  my  manhood  I'd  take  the  first.  For- 
tunately, no  such  alternative  will  be  thrust  upon  us 
Miss  Adare  pointed  out  to  me  once  that  there  couldn't  be 
two  nght  courses,  each  opposed  to  the  other.  Right  and 
nghts  must  be  harmonious.  If  I'm  trur  to  myself  I'm 
true  to  my  country;  and  I  can't  be  true  to  my  country 
urJess  I  do  my  'bit,'  as  the  phrase  begins  to  g^.  for  S 
good  of  the  human  race." 

''And  you're  really  going?"  I  asked,  breathlessly. 

As  soon  as  I  can  arrange  things  with  Mr."-but  he 

remembered  ue  was  speaking  to  a  Brokenshire-"as  soon 

« I  can  arrange  things  with-^th  my  boss.    He's  willing 

to  let  me  go,  and  to  keep  my  job  for  me  if  I  come  bact 

360 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He'U  take  charge  of  my  small  funds  and  of  any  Miss  Adate 
inbusts  to  me.  He  asked  me  to  give  her  that  message 
When  it's  settled  I  shall  start  for  Canada." 

,.  J.""^*  ^  *^°  ^°" ''°  *^°°*^'"  ^"S''  st«t«l.  triumphantly. 
They  won't  enlist  Americans  there." 

Larry  Strangways  smiled. 

"Oh,  there  are  ways!  If  there's  nothing  elscs  for  it 
I'll  swear  in  as  a  Canadian." 

"You'd  do  that!"  In  different  tones  the  raclamation 
came  from  Hugh  and  me,  simultaneousl; 

I  can  stiU  see  Larry  Strangways  witli  .  -,roud,  fair 
head  held  high. 

"I'd  do  anything  rather  than  not  fi^ht.  My  American 
buthright  is  as  dear  to  me  as  it  is  to  any  one;  but  we've 
reached  a  time  when  such  considerations  must  go  by  the 
board.  For  the  matter  of  that,  the  more  closely  we  can 
now  identify  the  Briton  and  the  American,  the  better  it 
will  be  for  the  world." 

He  explained  this  at  some  length.  The  theme  was  so 
engrossing  that  even  Hugh  was  wiUing  to  listen  to  the 
argument.  People  were  talking  already  of  a  world  federa- 
tion which  would  follow  the  war  and  unite  all  the  nations 
in  approximate  brotherhood.  Larry  Strangways  didn't 
believe  in  that  as  a  possibility;  at  least  he  didn't  believe 
m  It  as  an  immediate  possibility.  There  were  just  two 
nations  fitted  to  understand  each  other  and  act  together, 
and  if  they  couldn't  fraternize  and  sympathize  it  was  of 
no  use  to  expect  that  miracle  from  races  who  had  nothing 
in  common.  Get  the  United  States  and  the  British 
Empire  to  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  sooner  or  later 
the  other  peoples  would  line  up  beside  them. 

But  you  must  begin  at  the  beginning.    Unless  you 
started  as  an  acorn  you  couldn't  be  an  oak;  if  you  were 
361 


THE  HIGH  HEAKT 


I 

It 


«°t_^Hng  to  be  a  baby  you  could  never  be««,. 
There  must  be  no  more  Haeue  ^wlT^  ^*°"  *  "»»■ 
programs  and  inJ^L^Z^^'^^tl^fvast 
d««n  was  evident.    We  nrnT^'  •  ^'^  "^  th^* 

««r  beyond  tie  possibie  t!^  t^"^'  ""  «»^°'t 
lay  in  British  aaV^^^  J^^^"'  ^^  ^  Practical 
undenrtood  prindpte  ^J^^^^^r  *"<^  «»°»only 
that  had  neTSrw^^""?^  ^J",^-*  «  them' 

not  primarily  of  governmeSibutCJdW  *'"  *^ 
thmg,  of  individuals     t+  ^  .      *™  ^^°«  every- 

caa  man  and  w^  J*  ^^  ""^  *°  *'  ^"''*  ^^  W 
lintenuptein;  Thlt^wT^  'T"  ""^  °P^°-- 
and  woman^  Snt  oTJ'  ^n^P^^'u^"'''^"^ 
operate  with  America  wa^fH,^.'^'"^'*^  t°  «> 
-ntiment  on  the^J^L^^"      "^^  "^  ^^  »^'l- 

British  muddling       ^  *^'  *'  "^"^'t  «>-operate  with 

th:s*mi^t"r;t2Sr"^-^-  "^^-^ 

Well,  then,  efficiency  fe  H^  T*  *°  '^°'  ^'t  it? 

There's  the  efficient  of  the^t.^'  ^  ^"tions. 

f^  and  guards  HI  ^;^'^.  ^^  ^"^  ^s 

«f  thetigeriathejunrie^ir    ^'  *^''  ^^'^^'^'y 
It  was  not  a  questi^  h^       J^  °"^  "  '=^«*-" 

b^  this  w  a:^her  t  ^^-/^  to -son,  as  to  who 
It  wasnot  a  question  orEn  J^tS"?-  * '^  *  « J"^- 
or  .of  French  or  Russian  a^oT  0^^^."^^"*^*^°°' 
qunywentbackofallthat^^ \^T"°^'*-    ^hein- 

E««pe.  beyond theMSeAlT'^J^'''"«^«» 
i-ia  and  Egypt,  ft  wa^  a  batt.!^  '^r°?'*,J^e  and  Assy, 
nations-ti;  last  g^:t^*"f,lP™:°Pl««  rather  than  of 
--%htbetwe^/-g„^-n^^„^,^ 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

men  and  the  contiwy  instinct,  implanted  more  or  lets  in  dl 
r^that  they  *.a  hold  up  their  he^ls  and^ft;:;^.' 

It  wa.  part  of  the  impulse  of  the  htmum  race  to  foiw 

SSt^^r"-  "^^  ""^  *^*  worked ^S 
hberty  had  been  anning  themselves,  not  merely  for  a 

IZ'^w'^J.^T'^-^  ""'» *•»  ^P"'^ «rf time  for 
jurt  th«  tnal  of  strength.  The  effort  wodd  be  cSl 
and  rt  wouM  be  cuhninating;  no  human  being  wSS 
^J!^!^^^-  KAmericadid„'tcoierofh« 
tane  he  Larry  Strangways,  was  going  of  free  will. 

He  didnt  express  it  in  just  this  way.   He  put  it  humblv 

colloquially,  with  touches  of  slang.  ^' 

"I've  got  to  be  on  the  job.  Miss  Adare,  and  there  are  no 

t..o  ways  about  It,"  were  the  worfs  m  which  he  ended 

Ive  just  run  down  from  New  York  to  speak  about- 

about  the  money;  and-^d  to  bid  you  good-by"    He 

ghn<^towarfH^h.    "Possibly,  in  view^efL  that 

I  m  so  soon  to  be  off-«id  may  not  come  back,  you 

know,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh-"Mr.  Brokensl^;o^ 

mmd  If— if  we  shake  hands."  «Bmrewont 

tnLT  '^^^.^''^}''  ^^^  that  he  gave  us  a  lltUe  while 
togeaier.  Gomg  down  the  steps  he  had  mounted  he 
called  back,  over  his  shouldsr: 

"  I'm  going  off  for  a  walk,  dear.    I  shaU  return  in  exactly 
fifteennunutes;  and  I  expect  you  to  be  ready  for  me  then." 
But  when  we  were  alone  we  had  little  or  nothing  to  sav 
i^s     T  ^r^  °i  f  ho-  as  a  period  of  e^otion^ 
paralyse     I  knew  and  he  knew  that  each  second  ticked 
off  an  mstant  that  all  the  rest  of  our  Kves  we  should  long 
for  m  vain;  and  yet  we  didn't  know  how  to  make  use  of  it 
We  began  to  wander  slowly  up  the  slope.    We  did  it 
363 


.!«: 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

about  hiaSto^^^'^^iJ^.^-'^-Wet^^ 
off.  so  far  as  WB  t^^Tl*  ,.  .  ^  **^*  **  brealdng 
G«in,er"a„"  M^'"^^'"*^--'  «-*-«'  Mr' 
about  outselvBs     wJ  «7^^!:       f  '^  """^  °°«>i'« 

were  slipping  awav     TvZnT^/      1^  ****  *•*  «nds 

beneath  thetanHf  IS  £"17'  ''^^^^hen. 
.,  Good-byl '  Larry  Strangways  said.  ZT 

'^d.  desperat^^J^ to  1^^/  '^?  "^^  *««  >«t 
respondTT     ^^         "'  »«'*'*«>  I  was  unable  to 

ani  tllke^SLjruJST"'  r  ^«  ^^^  «^  back 

happened  that?rC.:d::^-Jkte'  """^  '°"  '* 
towanl  Hugh     All  T  ^       •  *""*  necessary  steps 

"Life  is  not TKr  "^^      ?  "^^  ^°^  •»«  t°  understand' 
benit;ti^^"^'^P:^--^'^'>^»'^dly.    It  is  a 


CHAPTER  XXin 

A^rJf"^^^?'°''*"'*^  ^^  I  ^-^  ^alWng  alone  the 
•2;  Ocean  Drive  a  few  days  after  Lany  StrangwS^  h^ 
come  and  gone,  the  dear  lad  got  sWsatisfa^rfS 
chfrpng  me  with  inconsistency.  -^acuon  trom 

"You're  <»rtainly  talking  about  England  and  Canada 
tO;day  y^  diiferently  irom  what  you  uLd  to. " 

Am  I?    WeU,  if  it  seems  so  it's  because  vmi  /i„„-* 

"^^r*'^*"*'"'^  °'  Canao^ans  to^brJtr 
^^^  \w*^'  ^  ^  6°venunent.  England  hS 
been  magnificently  true  to  us  always.    It's  only  betwe^ 

anses    and  for  that  most  Canadians  don't  cate.    The 

dS'S  T'l'^i'^  ''"^^"  ^^'^  bumptious  r 
ITy  ^  ^!  Canadian  would  grow  bumptious  if  the 
Enghshm^  didn't  snub.  Both  snubbL.g  and  bTp  W 
ness  are  offensive  to  me;  but  that,  I  4pose,TS^ 
Imover-sensitive.  And  yet  one  forgets  sSe^J^,^ 
^««nes  to  anything  r^ly  national.    In  that  we'n.  o^ 

t"  PloridT^f  ^r"'^'''  "  ^*  -l^'*  binds  OiCn 
to  Konda     You'll  never  find  one  of  us  who  isn't^d 

toserve  when  England  gi,^  the  orders." 
'To  be  snubbed  by  her  for  serving  " 
"Cmainly;  to  be  snubbed  by  her  for  serving!    It's  aU 
we  look  for;  it's  all  we  shall  ever  get.    No  one  need  nlte 
any  mistake  about  that.    In  Canada  we're  Sn^S 
36s 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

J«iding  fifty  thou«nd  troop,  to  the  front.    We  n»r  ««d 

we  re  not  wch  children  as  to  go  into  a  cause  in  the  hwe 

^t«»neone^giveusBweets.    We  do  it  for  theQuT 

We  know,  too,  that  it  isn't  exactly  injustic  on  the  E^^ 
Mde;  It  s  only  ungraciousness." 

'•Oh,  they're  long  on  ungraciousness,  all  right." 
.Z^'  ^^ '*''«'7l°"g  on  ungraciousness-" 

h.',  fZ  w  ''^''  *'^*-  "^°"  "'^'^'1  ^'^  Wm  cus.  after 
he  s  been  kotowing  to  some  British  celebrity-^Trivw 
Imn  the  best  of  all  he's  got-^d  put  him  uJlTSe^ 
dubs.  T^eybringhimlettersinshoals.  you^n.^T"'^ 
I  m  afraid  it  has  to  be  admitted  that  the  best-manneied 
«nong  them  are  often  nide  from  our  transatlanH^S 
v^ew;  and  yet  the  very  rudeness  is  one  of  the  dS  rf 
their  good  qualities  You  can  no  mor^  take  thTS^^ 
TTJ  out  of  the  English  character  than  yoT^  S^ 
wouS"""*-/^""^'  but  if  granite  ^'tlLS^: 
wouldnt  serve  ite  purposes.  We  Canadians  know^ 
don  t  you  see?    We  allow  for  it  in  advance,  SHs^Si 

MS  strength  and  sagaaty.  We're  not  angels  onrselvea- 
neither  you  Americans  nor  we  Canadians;  ^7^ 
J;^,,«et  the   credit   for   such  smaU  meri^  «  H 

"All  they  give  us  credit  for  is  money  " 

thl r'r  f'^T^l  ^^'  ^  ^  ^^t  ^^  of  ««Mt  for 
i^lldi^^  :  ^^"^  "^^  ^  ^°^^  calf  of  yo^ 
TW  faU  down  and  wor^ip  you,  like  the  children  of  iS 

Sl^l'^uT"?-  ^^'^^'-^  rich  as  we  shall  be^ 
day  they'll  do  the  same  by  us."  =»«»uDesome 

366 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


^S^l^'^^  r  '°*f«««  with  Hugh  h«i  came  to  be 
whony  alon^   >  itemational  Unw.    We  we«  nTi 

«»«ly  a  n«r    ,„d  a  woman;   we  ww  ^.  J°^ 

P^nUofview.    The wor.d-st^gX-Te fc^^.H: 

I*ny  Strangways  would  have  ca'led  it-_t.^r  i       ' 

.•nus.    Theinti:?ocln„«ofTu2l,^^^* 

Cho^k.  we  had  our  part  in  the  vast  drama     V^ut 

d'Azur.  ^^^  "^®  oky-hne  as  they  do  on  the  C6te 

felurfkS  7""  "^^Z  '°  ^"^  *^  ^^^  since  I 

riS^t:SThei.TJiSr«i-^r^S 

^^P^ed  and  explained.  S^^^^lt'n^,^'^^ 
£wl-^!r^'  English-speaking  nations  l2^f?hs 

"You  se;,,  Hugh,  people,  are  like  people.    Each  of  us 

367  ^ 


THE    HIGH   HEART 


dMthrt  ,t  off  «,  v«y  weU;  and  yrt  you  contrive  to  b^ 
^^u«  together  and  uphold  the  honor  of  the 

"I'm  a  Socialist  and  Jack's  a  snot>-" 

'That's  it.  Mentally  you're  the  world  apart.  But 
SrwI^l  JT*  '°  «»»«>°"  to  work  for,  you  get  along 
t^^r^  1°^  "'^^,  *^°"''*"'*  '^'  Englishman  and  thf 
i^rr  -,-«"^'^  Why  should  they  alwaj-s  see  how 
^  ?^^*^'*  "''*'^  °^  ''°*  """^  they  are  alike? 
W,y  should  they  always  underscore  each  other's  faulu 
when  by  seeing  each  other's  good  points  they  could  benefit 
^t  only  themsehres  but  the  world?    If  there  was  an  en- 

^^jJt  ^  ^^-  ^^^^  *''"  ^"*''*  Empire  and  the 
United  States-not  exactly  an  alliance,  perhaps,  if  people 
are  afraid  of  the  word—"  ^^ 

his  small,  myosotisKwlored  eyes. 

^v^  *"**'  '^"'\A1«:  i^''*  this  the  dope  that  fresh 
gu>  btrangways  was  handing  out  the  other  day  ?" 

I  flushed,  but  I  didn't  stammer. 

"I  don't  care  whether  it  is  or  not.  Besides,  it  isn't 
«^;Ji*  l^-'  •',*  "  '^'^•-•^e;  it's  a  remedy  for  the  ills  of 

s^.^s^r's^.^-  -*  ^*  ^  -  ^'  - 
^rj'^'^i'''^-  "°"^-  "^^  «-*^ 

"Yes,"  I  agreed,  "Canada  would  still  be  the  goat-  but 
^  don't  mind  that.  We're  used  to  it.  YouKw^s 
W  w^if  f  °"  °"*  ^"^^  ^"^  England  on  the  oth«r; 
^Twol^"  T  f^-  e°°d-natured  boy  who  doesn't 
r«ent  kicks  and  aiffs  because  he  knows  he  can  grow  and 
thnvem  spite  of  them." 

368 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

He  put  Wi  hand  on  my  ann  and  ipolcB  in  the  kindly  tone 
Jjat  reminded  me  of  his  father.  ««uyH»e 

/'^^^^^''^^^•y^^oan'irtvit.    It  won't  go  down 
a,ppc«,  we  keep  to  the  «,rt  of  thinij  vou  «f^^^ 


xou  see,  when  you've  mairied 
Then  you'll  be  out  of  it, 


thing  you  can  tackle, 
me  you'll  be  an  American. 

I  was  hurt.    I  was  furious.    The  expression,  too  wa. 

S°°M^fr'-  I'^««towishIwa,oS^"ofT 
Smoe  I  couldn't  be  in  it.  marriage  might  prove  a  Uthe 
teth  m  which  I  should  foi^et  I  had  anythkg  to  do^^ 
it.    Sheer  desperation  made  me  cry  out- 

Very  weU  then,  Hughl    If  we're  to  be  married,  can't 
^be  mamed  quickly?    Then  I  shall  have  it  c;ff^y 

Thm  was  not  only  a  woeful  decline  of  spirit  in  his 
XT  ^^L"^  '':'^'  ■'«'°^  theBrokensWryoke 
mSrhL^."^"'     -quicker  than  dad  says.    But 
He  made  no  objection,  however,  w'     .  a  little  later.  I 
received  from  my  uncle  a  draft  for  my      tire  fortune^d 
^n^mced  my  intention  of  handing  L  sum  JS^L  Mr 
Strimgways  for  myestment.    Hugh  probably  looked  on 
the  amount  as  too  insignificant  to  talk  about;  in  adSi^ 
to  whi^  some  Brokenshire  instinct  for  the  p^fitable  m^ 
W  ted  him  to  appreciate  a  thing  so  good'^ss  SZTl 
Wty  to  say  nay  to  t.    The  result  was  that  I  hearfS 
I^Stnmgways.  in  letter,  which  added  nothing  to^ 

I  don't  W  what  I  expected  him  to  say ;  but,  whatever 
nor^-^^ST''-  «^ --'*-*:  his  le'tS^w^ 
^,1T    ^-^  "'°*'^'  ^^  ^t«  at  length,  and 

catesofstock.    But  they  were  aU  political  or  international 
369 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

«  reUted  in  oM  ^y  „  3,,,rther  to  the  ideal  of  W.  l«rt 
England  and  America!    The  Hritiei,   r"™™««rt— 

United  Statesf    -^Zo^^T^i^^L:!!^^ 

^der  had  the  baUy^r^^tSTw  L'S 

^  had  not  as  yet  been  tr«d}    yZ^^"^ 
when  there  was  no  peace  at  lie  aS  ^a  Knf' 

I-r^e^J^o^^^^^s^-^^oUfoc: 

moa  of  wWd.  lie  h„n>an  ««  h^^si'^'J^' 
as  human  beings  of  wedlock.  «"«  "™e  »ort  of  need 

And  in  aU  this  there  was  no  reference  to  me.    He«f»k* 

^1S"^=  I-«htnot^Iov^"tif'T£ 
s««wi  the  letters  m  the  vein  in  which  they  w^«^ 

FoiXet  itl   was  hu  ordinary  comment    "71-  A«-,- 
^^^le.toowisean^Etobecaiht^tK 

«STir?^^  ^^  St«ngways  mrfe  no 

^  to  me  that  I  gave  myself  to  forwarding  tewcS 
with  a  more  enthuaastic  zeal  I  J,a^  t«  j  TT^  •  .  ^^ 
fear^o^dingH,^;  ^.^^^^^^J^tly^o. 

eITp  "^^  f  ^~^  '^^  '=^^<J^  who  had  been 
It  fSl'  ""^  governess  and  whom  the  bIS 
hZ,-T1^'  "  "°«PJa"°ed  reasons,  had  acceoted« 
Hughsfuturewife.  What  could  I  know  abouS^  " 
3/0 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


hav«  been  an  Xnttl^'Bol  ""^  .^^  "^«^* 

It  wasn't  .e^y  fa^oSSHLf  thTw^'^.f^fS 
It;  no  one  would.    T  ime-,  „i^.      "    wouidn  t  think  of 

I  knew  townspeople  of  ^LS''  f^''  ''^  ^  *^«- 
and  Hurt  inteSate  gSTr;..':^  "T"^  '^^^''' 
fc«o«  who  come  ia^t^^thl  ^^f^r^^  '^'^  P«>- 
-d  I  knew  -vants'^S^^S'- J^rth*"^'^'' 
th^^^^thewoTM.    Nott^S^-te^'^^ 

I  gitwp  them  tocethTl^^^f    *^^°8"*^sitors. 

'  TheyWonSS^fS""  they  belonged  together. 

«geachSEfli^tto'r^*t^*««-wa»noth- 

««  who  knew  it  b^h^v     ^^a''  ^^^^  ^  ««»« 
had  all  been  in  contacS'nJ^  Amencan  war  refugees 

were  well  infonned  because  they^  S^-?  ^*°" 
Some  of  them  told  prodi^^LT^uff^'!*  ^*«* 
di.*ctly  fh>m  Dowi^rS  ^  **  they  had  ia- 
-hy  Geae,^  Isleworth'  S^n^^If  •*\?^'« 
n»nd,  and  the  oarc  iw^  r^".^'«««eded  m  his  corn- 
American.  h^pni*J"f,.^^f^'  *^*  '^"«ftd 
learned  tl^atUdy  Si  J5fr^    Prom  othe«  we 

^^<»^p^birft  srSetSi;:-  *^- 

War  was  showa  to  us  by  our  Fno^T^^^^ 
'»>i^ty.pi«l^«,„^,,;^7,^^^.a 


m 


M 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

political  mtrigues,  in  wMch  women  pulled  the  strings  I 
know  it  was  talk;  but  talk  it  was.    For  weeks,  for  months 

we  had  It  with  the  greater  number  of  our  meals.  'Wher- 
ever there  were  English  guests--women  of  title  they  often 
were,  or  eccentric  pubUc  men— we  had  an  orgy  of  tales  in 
which  Uie  very  entrails  of  English  reputations  were  torn 
out.  No  one  was  spared-not  even  the  Highest  in  the 
l..and.  All  the  American  could  do  was  to  listen  open- 
mouthed;  and  open-mouthed  he  listened. 

I  will  say  for  the  English  that  they  have  no  disloyalty 
but  that  of  chatter;  but  the  plain  American  could  not  be 
expected  to  know  that.  To  him  the  chatter  was  gospel 
truth.  He  has  none  of  that  fadUty  for  discounting  gossip 
on  the  great  which  the  Enghshman  learns  with  his  mother 
tongue.  The  American  heard  it  greedily;  he  was  avid  for 
more.  He  retailed  it  at  dinners  and  teas,  and  in  that 
Readmg-room  which  is  really  a  dub.  NaturaUy  enough! 
Fttan  what  our  English  visitors  told  us  about  themselves 
thor  statesmen,  their  generals,  their  admirals  were  footlers' 
at  the  best,  and  could,  moreover,  be  described  by  a  vigor- 
ous compound  Anglo-Saxon  word  m  the  Book  of  Revela- 
tions. 

And  the  English  papers  were  no  better.  All  the  impor- 
tant ones,  weddies  as  weU  as  daihes,  were  sent  to  Mr 
IMcenshire,  and  copies  lay  about  at  Mr.  Rossiter's 
Thqrsidcenedme.  I  stopped  leading  them.  There  was 
garf  m  them,  doubtless;  but  what  I  diiefly  found  was  a 
wild  tempest  of  abuse  of  this  party  or  that  party,  of  this 
leading  man  or  that  leading  man,  with  the  efiEect  on  the 
unagination  of  a  ship  going  down  amid  the  curses  and  con- 
fusion of  officers  and  passengers  alike.  It  may  have 
sounded  wdl  in  England;  very  likdy  it  did;  but  in  Ameri- 
ca it  was  horrible.  I  mention  it  here  only  because,  in  this 
372 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

babel  of  voices,  my  own  faint  pipe  on  behalf  of  a  league  of 
democracies  could  no  more  be  heatd  than  the  tinkle  of  a 
saamg  bell  amid  the  shrieking  and  bursting  of  shells 
*!.  mf*^  tempted  to  say  no  more  about  it  and  let 
the  worid  go  to  pot.  Then  I  thought  of  Larry  Strang, 
ways,  offermg  his  life  for  an  ideal  as  to  whidi  I  was  un- 
wiBing  to  q)Mk  a  word.  So  I  would  begin  my  litany  of 
Bohvia  and  Bdu<^stan  over  again,  crooning  it  into  the 
wrs  of  people,  both  gentle  and  simple,  who.  in  the  matter 
of  re^nse,  might  never  have  heard  the  names  of  the  two 
countries  I  mentioned  together. 

•ifiTfJ^lr^r^-""*  °^  ^-^  Strangways's  letters, 
w^  from  Valcartier,  prompted  me  to  penevere  in  this 

thft^^  "".f.  T'  J°*««t«l  here  than  they  are  on  our  side  of 
the  border;  bat  it's  got  to  come,  for  aU  that.    What  we  need  La 

and  talk.  Thank  the  Lord,  you  and  I  can  talk  if  we  are  not  very 
s^ngon  wr,t«g!  and  tolk  we  must!  Bigger  streams  ha™  ri^ 
from  smallCT  spnngs.  The  mustard  seed  is  the  least  of  all  seeds-  bS 
It  grows  to  be  the  greatest  of  herbs.  <=«' oi  au  seeds,  but 

It  might  have  been  easier  to  call  forth  a  responsive  spark 
had  we  reahzed  that  tiiere  was  a  war.    But  we  hadn't— 
not  m  the  way  that  the  fact  came  to  us  afterward     In 
spite  of  the  taking  of  Namur,  Lilsge,  Maubeuge,  the  ad- 
vance on  Paris,  and  the  rolling  back  on  the  Mame.  we  had 
seen  no  more  than  chariots  ard  horses  of  fire  in  the  clouds. 
It  was  not  only  distant,  it  was  phantom-like.    We  read  the 
papers;  we  heard  of  horrors;  American  war  refugees  and 
Enghsh  visitors  alike  piled  up  the  agonies,  to  which  we 
hstened  eagerly;  we  saw  the  moneyed  magnates  come  and 
go  m  counsel  with  Mr.  Brokenshire;  we  knitted  and  sewed 
373 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

to  i^it  wW^T",.  ^Jl  "^  ^°'  Cisde  she  stood  sUU 
rf«^  K  T       ""^'^  ^"^  ^  ^^^^^ on.    Once  or  twioei 

So  there  really  was  a  warl    Kuril's  <feM>  "nt,  t" ■ 

•teelflikethedistaatrmbleofSS  ""   '^"' 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
yHERE  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  Lady  Cedlia  h^ 

37S 


THE  HIGH  HEART 
because  some  of  the  courses  I  suggested  would  have  done 
hmgood  They  would  have  utilized  the  physical  strength 
with  which  he  was  blessed,  and  delivered  him  from  that 
matenal  weU-being  to  which  he  returned  with  the  more 
childlike  rejoicing  because  of  having  been  without  it. 

Hugh,  dear,"  I  said  to  him  onre,  "couldn't  we  be 
married  soon  and  go  over  to  France  or  England  ?  Then  we 
should  see  whether  there  wasn't  something  we  could  do  " 

Not  on  your  Ufe,  Uttle  Alix!"  was  his  laughing  re- 
sponse. "  Smce  as  Americans  we're  out  of  it,  out  of  it  we 
shall  stay." 

Over  replies  like  this,  of  which  there  were  many  I  was 
gnashing  my  teeth  helplessly  when,  all  at  once  I  was 
caUed  on  to  see  myself  as  others  saw  me,  so  grttinjr  a 
surprise.  ' 

Tf  -.  first  note  of  warning  came  to  me  in  a  few  words 
from  ^thel  Rossiter.  I  was  scribbling  her  notes  one 
mramng  as  she  lay  in  bed,  when  it  occurred  to  me  to  say: 

'If  I'm  going  to  be  married,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
domg  something  about  clothes." 

She  murmured,  listlessly: 

''  Oh,  I  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  about  that,  if  I  were  you." 

I  went  on  writing. 

"I  haven't  been  in  a  hurry,  have  I?  But  I  shall  cer- 
tainly ,vpnt  some  things  I  haven't  got  now." 

"Then  you  can  get  them  after  you're  married.  When 
are  you  to  be  married,  anyhow  ?" 

As  the  question  was  much  on  my  mind,  I  looked  up  from 
my  task  and  said: 

"WeU— when.?" 

"  Don't  you  know?" 

"No.     Do  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

376 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"I  didn't  know  but  what  father  had  said  somethine 
about  it."  " 

^   "He  hasn't— not  a  word."    I  resumed  my  scribbling. 
It  s  a  queer  thing  for  him  to  have  to  settle,  don't  you 
think?    One  might  have  supposed  it  would  have  been  left 
to  me." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  father !"  It  was  as  if  throwing  off 
something  of  no  importance  that  she  added,  "Of  course, 
he  can  see  that  you're  not  in  love  with  Hugh." 

Amazed  at  this  reading  of  my  heart.  I  bent  my  head  to 
hide  my  confusion. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  that,"  I  stammered 
at  last,  "when  you  can't  help  seeing  I'm  quite  true  to 
him." 

She  shrugged  her  beautiful  shouldere,  of  which  one  was 
bare. 

"Oh,  true!  What's  the  good  of  that?"  She  went  on 
casuaUy :  "  By  the  by,  do  call  up  Daisy  Burke  and  tell  he^ 
I  sha  n't  go  to  that  luncheon  of  theirs.  They're  going  to 
have  old  lady  Billing,  who's  coming  to  stay  at  father's- 
and  you  don't  catch  me  with  that  lot  except  when  I  can't 
help  it."  She  reverted  to  the  topic  of  a  minute  before. 
"I  don't  blame  you,  of  course.  I  suppose,  if  I  were  in  your 
place,  it's  what  I  should  do  myself.  It's  what  I  thought 
you'd  try  for— you  remember,  don't  you?— as  long  ago  as 
when  we  were  in  Halifax.  But  naturally  enough  other 
people  don't—"  I  failed  to  learn,  however,  what  other 
people  didn't,  because  of  a  second  reversion  in  theme: 
'  Do  make  up  something  civil  to  say  to  Daisy,  and  tell  her 
I  won't  come." 

We  dropped  the  subject,  chiefly  because  I  was  afraid 
to  go  on  with  it;  but  when  I  met  old  Mrs.  Billing  I  re- 
ceived a  similar  shock.    Having  gone  to  Mr.  Brokenshire's 
377 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

to  w  to  av  i«t»cu.  I WM  toU  d»  WM  on  th«  terM«». 
A«  a  natter  of  fact,  die  WM  n«kmg  her  ^  tolS^ 
hj^«2awkw«dly  carried  alff  a^^S^^ 

Jm^  part  ™.  without  further  word..  d«  entered 

"What  did  she  mean?"  I  asked  of  Cisaie  Boeoobel  to 

whom  I  heard  that  Mra.  Billing  had  riven  h«.  ™^!Z  . 
of  the  incident.  "^^  "«>  Pven  her  ovra  account 

Lady  Cecilia  was  embarrassed. 

"Oh,  nothing  I    She's  just  so  venr  odd  " 

But  I  insisted: 

do'SSSr""""*'^"'*^^-    H-l  it  anything  to 

thfS^'^^l^^^^^"^* '*«>*■  Mn^Billinghadgot 
t^  t^  ^*  ^  ""^  ''^"'^8  Hugh  for  his  n^  aS 
though  m  the  past  she  had  not  disapp„,ved  of  ^li^ 
action,  die  had  come  to  think  it  no  road  to  haontoLT 

yJ'^!^^yZ:^  truth  the.  is  in  aU  that,  don't 

Lady  Cissie  did  her  best  to  support  me,  though  between 
her  words  and  her  infl«><«ri/,t,  tuJi.  ""«Kn  oetween 

comsspond^.       ^^°  *^  ^"^  *  "^««  >«*  of 

"Oh  yes— certainly!" 

Igot  the  reaction  of  her  thought,  however,  K»ne  minutes 
la^.  when  she  said,  apropos  of  nothing  in'our  c^;^ 

37« 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"Since  Janet  ow't  be  married  this  month  I  needn't  «> 
home  for  a  long  time."  "«»»ui,  i  needn  t  go 

ti^Z^T^  **^*  ^  '"«^°°  wa.  in  the  air,  I  waa 
the  better  able  to  mterpret  Mildred's  omcular  utiJ^ 

thene«tm«rsatatthefooto£thecouS5e"d;S 

"One  can't  be  true  to  another,"  she  said  m  ««i„  ♦ 
some  feel«r  of  my  own,  "maless'o^ie  ilLrto  one^'C 

^'oS?^Ai;^;j^,^.'— —er 

onl'JSgSi^r^  ""  *'  '^-*-  "  *<>  -^* 

of^Won':"  "^  ^""  *^*  P^*=^  ^  '^^  «P-^o«« 

to'lSl™  f"''''''  that  it  is  mo«  blessed  to  give  than 
to  m«ve,  I  suppose  our  highest  promptings  L  t^ 
whidiunge  us  to  give  most  of  ourselves"  ^^  ^  ">««e 
^Jtod  when  one  gives  all  of  oneself  that  one  can  di». 

P«^«^^r  *°  T^^  *'''  importance  or  the  unim- 
portanoe  of  what  one  has  to  withhold  "  ^^ 

™^  f  J*l^"^  *^*  had  been  said  to  me  this  was  the 
^dishrrbrng.  It  had  seemed  to  me  hitheS^X" tt 
essence  of  my  duty  lay  in  marrying  Hugh     If  I  marri«4 

ten  for  all  he  had  undergone  for  my  sake.  iXZS 
as  .wing  bm  a  debt.    The  refusal  to  pay  it  wZd^ 

solvent,  ^d  also  considering  myself  honest,  I  feUI  ^„ 
choice.    Since  I  could  pay.  I  must  d^  -Th.  11 
was  the  more  forcfb/bLuTfC-  H^hTZ' 
379 


m 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

gratrfultoWm.    I  could  be  totertUy  happy  with  him,  and 
would  make  him  a  good  wife. 

To  make  him  a  good  wife  I  had  choked  back  everything 
,rr  '^Z*'*  ^"^  ^*^  Strangways;  I  had  submitted  to 
aU  the  Brokenshire  repressions;  I  had  made  myself  humble 
and  small  before  Hugh  and  his  father,  and  accepted  the 
status  of  a  Libby  Jaynes.  My  heart  cried  out  like  any 
other  woman's  heart-it  cried  out  for  my  country  in  the 
hour  of  Its  stress;  it  cried  out  for  my  home  in  what  I  tried 
to  make  the  hour  of  my  happiness;  when  it  caught  me 
unawares  it  cried  out  for  the  man  I  loved.  But  all  this  I 
mastered  as  our  Canadian  men  were  mastering  their 
longings  and  regrets  on  saying  their  good-bys.  What  was 
to  be  done  was  to  be  done,  and  done  willingly.  Willingly 
I  meant  to  marry  Hugh,  not  because  he  was  the  man  I 
would  have  chosen  before  all  others,  but  because,  when  no 
one  else  in  the  world  was  giving  me  a  thought,  he  had  had 
the  astonishing  goodness  to  choose  me.    And  now— 

With  Mis.  Brokenshire  the  situation  was  different  She 
believed  I  was  in  love  with  Hugh  and  that  the  othem  were 
doing  me  a  wrong.  Moreover,  she  informed  me  one  day 
that  I  was  making  my  way  in  Newport.  People  who 
noticed  me  once  noticed  me  again.  The  men  beside  whom 
1  sat  at  the  occasional  lunches  and  dinners  I  attended 
often  ^ke  of  me  to  the  hostess  on  going  away,  and  there 
could  be  no  better  sign  than  that.  They  said  that,  though 
I  wasn  t  long  on  looks,"  I  had  ideas  and  knew. how  to 
express  them.  She  ventured  to  hope  that  this  kindly 
opinion  might,  in  the  end,  soften  Mr.  Brokenshire. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  he  isn't  softened  as  it  is  ?" 
She  answered,  indirectly: 

"He's  not  accustomed  to  be  forced— and  he  feeU  I've 
farced  him." 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

^^^^^^^^„      "-aeuung  for  Kwrthing  he  granted  you  in 

h.«nti„,. « lcri<Sfta'h^^Srr  'S''"'  "  " 
<*in«.    It  WM  a  ««»— :       V^  f^^"    "  told  me  every- 

-JK^Kkrt^  Z^  ^'t^*  "^^T:-  ^that  thou 

P«»i«i    She  had  got  hT  ,^«  «„^^%^ /°^  ""^  "°t 
gain.    She  <3,^^^  P"**  ^"^  ''^  '  f^led  her  bar- 
B«a.    one  couldn  t ;  she  never  would.    It  was  h«v™,^  u 
The  bjg  moneyed  man  who  at  th«f  ^-    1        ''Voad  her. 
fi«>«noe  a  good  WTeSL  w^  ^"**  "^  ^''P^  ^ 

woman;  and  I  in^v^LSX •*'  "^  ***«  ^^-^^ed  by  a 
his  di«;mfiL,    ^  P«*  >»«»«  P««on  was  the  symbol  of 

th2;i^^';^''JJ^*o'«^veme,    Nowonder 
Wadly^r^  c^-        ..^l'^  '•*  *«"*«» «« to  some 

rence  to  a  W^^'v  .*^^!f  T^  ««  object  of  abhor- 

^  co„i™=>i^th^St£"tS:  r'-  °" 

w«  .eething  to  the  boilbgJT^^e  ^'irT*^ 
■bwkmedeadwithalnAwToT!"  *  **^*^   ^^^ve 

havelikedhimifhe^let^*"***^''*'^-    ^"^^^ 
eAlti.^T^r'^'-.^^t.    I  thought 

™y.     ^o  a  spint  so  hot  as  mine  it  would  have 
381 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

jj^k^d«  to  ri^t.  right  iSS  oiTT^  SS 

Wag  .  theotegiM.  I  felt  £«,  to  n»to  «S  dSSL^rf 
^^^I'-'-^^f^"  right  «wl  God.    laShSnr^ 

ommpoteaoe. «tellig«,oe, «»1  love;  but IhSno^Tfer 
exactneu  of  tenns.    In  keepwg  a^to  riSt  r  W^ 

so  «,  fa,  that  no  power  on  earth  would  .e«S^^ 
to  save  me-and  yet  I  should  be  saved  ^  ^^ 

I  went  on  then  with  a  kind  of  fearieameM     TfT_   . 
-any  Hugh  I  was  convinced  thatTZTi*  11^. 
if  not,  I  was  equaUy  convin«H  fl,.*  JZTu-      '"PP<*t«»; 
me  back.       ^^' "®^***' ™*  *»»thiag  would  hold 

"If  anything  should  happen,"  I  said  to  Ci«{-  n—  u  . 
oneday  "Iw^ntyoutolEter^h^.'^""'^**^ 
^iJ^roJSr*^  "^ '^  "^ '-•  *^«^ -"•  only 

"Happen— how?" 
^don't  know.    Perhaps  nothing  wilL    But  if  it 

^dipped  away,  doubtless  so  as  not  to  hear  mow. 
And  ^  one  evening,  when  I  was  not  thinWesoe- 
«aally  about  it.  the  Cloud  came  down  on  SSLw 

it:i^^.y^^^^^,tSS--bie^: 

herhusb^d's  ^p.  had  bee^S.^^^^^'^f-^^^^^ 

and  that  he  was  among  the  lost.  ' 

So  the  caU  was  coming  to  me  more  sharply  than  I  h^ 

£ert^:«eSt^^£^'«-4^'SJS 

lu  Mose  about  me  beyond  mentioning  the  fact     I 
38a 


THE  HIGH   HEART 


mpptm  they  Aowed  me  m  much  i^mpathy  as  the  tweeo- 
tal  away  cf  •  mere  brother-in-law  demanded  ^ 

-iS^SrJT  '"^^  "^  "^  ""^  they  we«  J:;i 
"Think  we'd  ever  expoee  our  feUowg  like  that?"  wa> 
Hugh'!  comment.    "Not  on  your  life!" 

But  they  didn't  make  a  heroine  of  me  a.  they  did  with 
LjidyC.»,e;  not  that  I  cam!  about  that.  I^lyho^ 
J«t  the  fact  that  my  brother-in-law',  name  w.^'i?K 
A«n«n  accounts  of  the  incident  would  show  them  tS 

Hit  did!  never  perceived  it.    Perhaps  the  loss  of  a  mea, 
<teith  m  action  of  a  Lord  Leatherhead;  perhaps  we  wen. 

Tt^:'zr^.  *°  »^«  tou  of  ^T^^z:z 

th!  JT^'J^^  *^"**  '""  "*"'  to  "^  appearances 
tne  only  «jflEerer.  Within  a  day  or  two  a  bb^S 
*«  my  sole  reminder  that  the  King  Arthur  had  ^ 

^«ts^£"'^''''"^«-^'^«^ 

And  then  came  the  evening  when  as  Larry  Stramrwavs 

««1  on  my  teUing  him  about  it.  "the  f^J^J^ 

It  was  the  occasion  of  what  had  become  the  amiual  din- 

^endid  function.  Nothing  short  of  a  splendid  funa^ 
wovdd  W  ^tisfied  the  old  lady,  who  had  the  gi^  of 
makmg  even  the  great  afraid  of  her.    The  event  vms  the 

^j:t!S"^*  "^.  ""*  "^°"  *•-*•  -  ^""^^  tt 

^«  of  tte  favorite,  a  number  of  brother  prince,  of 

^ce^m  Newport  for  conferonce  with  our  host,  wero 

laduded  among  the  guests.    Of  these  one  was  stajdng^ 

383 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

the  house,  one  with  the  Tack  n,r,i,-„  u- 
hotel.    Iwasseatedt^^^^^'^-Jtwoata 
hotel  because  they  SHL^f      °.''^°  '^  »*  *« 
Mr.  Bmkenshire  Sd^.t^^  «ainiportant.    Even 

When  perhaps  heTc^dW-SLSiT'^  °^''«^ 
tions  in  clubs.  ^  ^'^^'^^  to  show  his  atten- 

gone;  but  there  w^a  cSt^"'^"'*'^"'*^'^^ 
before  the  assembircL^rT"*  V"'  dinner-table 
nation,  not  becaus^  t^^^'  •  ^  ^^"  '''^^  °^  the  conver- 
v^hat  they  led  T^o.      ^  ^^^t.  but  because  of 

thHMe.    Ittookau4emSnf^.^??,.^^^«^gaona 

a^  tho*  gathered  in  f^^^he  1 JV  u"'*"^*'  ^  ^«" 
Rossiter's,  to  wait  on^  a  dJl  ^*^"^hires'  and  M«. 
P^fited.  Thegold^;^;e\tt  ^^'^^^^^^"'il 
vaults  in  New  Y^k  T^w^t  S,"  """^  '^"'^  f«»>  the 
as  well  as  the  platjfor  ^e  of  ^^  '"^  "^  «°''^' 

vases  and  bowls  held  the^l*?LlT^-  ^'^^ 
gold  spoons  and  forks  w JT^  ?^       °™^  ^he  table,  and 

fi-t  tinsel  had  eSt^^btef'T'^'^-  ''^^ 
how  nearly  the  li^A^  "  *°  °°*"*  '^th  my  own  eyes 
andempe^„.    ^  ^""^^^  ««  "val  the  state  of  I^ 

^^^^C^ZT^^l  tL''  -"^  "^^^^ 

*e  days  of  Solomon;  theT^^o^V^^"^  "''^'  ^ 
Diamonds  flashed,  nlbies  b>^  J°""fi ^ ^™*^  °'" 
said  unspeakable  things  aU^n  ^^  T  ^'  ^"^  ^""^^ 
row,  and  ropes  and  Zde^oZ^f  T  *^"  ^^^^^  ^e 
sates  of  Paradise.  TwJth.^  "^'''  °°"  ^^'"^  °f  "^e 
was  the  only  one  not  so  bedecked. 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

g-ts  and  «.  b^uty  of  the  tabTe  Je^S  °'  *"'  ""'^ 

I  had  been  infonni  by  mS^^Z^^S^^-^^ 

^y  were  sodaUv  dull,  that  one  of  them  w2^w""^d 
^t  my  powers^ould  be  taxed  to  keep  them  in  con^eZ 
tac«^   MymettlebeinguMthereforedidmybeS 
n^u  °°\        r?"  ^"^  P~^  t°  be  a  Mr.  Samuel 
R^,  whose  clain  to  be  present  spnmg  from  lS 

Slavic  and  Oriental  Sst  S^o^^^^^,  tl  Z£ 
glance  was  as  guileless  as  his  name  till  ^nt^I,^ 

38s 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

are  iwobably  ignorant  to  this  dav  of  ewr  ho™-    j 

bttt  the  fact  remains.         ^  ""^  °*  *^  1»^^  done  so; 

tr^^m^Z^^"^  *° '"'"««'  M-  B-kenshire  by 

with  one  of  my  nd At^;i  f?     ""^"^  *°  ^^  *^  ««» 

cached  I  was  doiTit^a  t^     f  !?'  *^P^  '^ 

comple^rL  r^.^   ^'^'^"°"  °^  «»«  states  was 


THi,   HIGH   HEART 

land.  Mere  nationaKty  was  left  out  of  the  question. 
All  nations  were  welcomed,  with  the  idea  of  welding 
them  into  one." 

"And  England,"  Mr.  Russky  declared,  somewhat  more 
loudly  than  was  necessary  for  my  hearing  him,  "is  still 
bound  up  in  her  Anglo-Zaxondon." 

"Notabitof  it!"  I  returned.  "Her  spirit  is  exactly  the'' 
same  as  that  of  this  country.  Except  this  country,  where 
is  there  an^  other  of  which  the  gates  and  ports  and  homes 
and  factories  have  been  open  to  all  nations  as  hers  have 
been?  They've  landed  on  her  shores  in  thousands  and 
thousands,  without  passports  and  without  restraint,  wel- 
comed and  protected  even  when  they've  been  taking  the 
bread  out  of  the  bom  Englishman's  mouth.  Look  at  the 
number  of  foreigners  they've  been  obliged  to  round  up 
since  the  war  began— for  the  simple  reason  that  they'd 
become  so  many  as  to  be  a  peril.  It's  the  same  not  only 
in  the  British  Islands,  but  in  every  part  of  the  British 
Empire.  Always  the  same  reception  for  all,  with  liberty 
for  all.  My  own  country,  in  proportion  to  its  population, 
is  as  full  of  citizens  of  foreign  birth  as  this  is.  They've 
been  fathered  and  mothered  from  the  minute  they  landed 
at  Halifax.  Poles  and  Ruthenians  and  Slovaks  and  Ice- 
landers have  been  given  the  same  advantage?  as  ourselves. 
I'm  not  boasting  of  this,  Mr.  Russky.  I'm  only  saying 
that,  though  we've  never  defined  the  principle  in  a  con- 
stitution, our  instinct  toward  mankind  is  the  same  asi 
yours." 

It  was  here  Mr.  Thome  broke  in,  saying  that  sympathy 
in  the  United  States  was  all  for  France. 

"I  can  understand  that,"  I  said.    "You  often  find  in  a 
family  that  the  sympathy  of  each  of  the  members  is  for 
s  one  outside.    But  that  doesn't  keep  them  from  being 
387 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^s'^U^SS.'^^  "  '"''^*  """"^  ^  a 

fw Engh^^^^"  ^-  ^°n» '^at  on.  "I don't  care 

.^j^^''^  politely  in  his  face. 

^esswL'^^^5^.-ythat?    I  thought 

Jou  might  conceivably  „rSfM^?r*^  ««««1- 
Casemente"~I  named  ;».»Z.      t  ^'■-  ^^«"  «  Mr 

f  you  loved  them  a.^d  a«i^  T"^  ^^^^  tl"®*  as 
««e  way  the  B^ton  LT«  T'^'^^y-  '«>.  I„  the 
«>nal  fancies  out  rf  tt  *!i"«"<=^  'aijfht  put  ^ 
gteat  ends."  """  *P«^°°  ^d  «x,p«^te  fe 

f^^'as^^o  d^ft^;:  ^!j^r^  -elaimed.  «, 
bom  the  sc*ae  of  Eur^Z  A;  ^  °^*  ^'^^  ''«''«  ^r 
««^istokeepoul7Sr  ^^'  ^"^  ««*  °^  -^est 
Sti^i,^  ^^ -->«*  I  had  leaded  f«™  Lany 

^Sfthr^^ltSTESr^"^-^-^-  Vou 
heritance  that  cT^SeT^^  ->.<!  it  isn't  an  in- 
quoted  one  of  Lany  St^J^  g^S^Phically."  j  ^ifl 
heart.  "Eveo.  SaJ^^!^'  ''"^'  ^"^S  "t  by 
and  ScotchnS^  J,^^ -J^ -d  Jew  and  I.aHan' 

of  It  with  him  and  binds  2.  ^  ^^^  ^  P°rtion 

World  more  closely  to  tte  ^L^'T'^^*^  °^  «>«  New 
continents  will  aol  sL^telf  *'  °'''-  ^'^^  ^d 
never  run  away  from^TI^t  ^.  ^"«-  A.  we  can 
expiato  what  they  and  tw  '^^"'^ans  must  help  to 
«-tries  from  S^tleX^^  .have  "^"^  ^^^ 
'«=al  war  or  a  twentiethS^  ^'^":^^f«  ^obea 
388  Its  the  struggle 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

«M>g  SO  interested  I  didn't  notic^th<.t.  ^    •        ..       . 
"eigfabon.  were  listening,  Z^dTn^       m»mediate 
Boscobel  told  me  aitJn^^^^  °^'  "^^  ^isde 
quieting  loofa  bet^^T^'^L^^^^-  ftfL^^ 

step^tThS^r^."  °''  '^^  "^*  ^"^'-i  to  keep 
I  smiled  engagingly 

h^^To^'"'  "°  "'^  '"'^  ^^^  *^«  S"*^  Empire 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"N^even  against  Scotland  or  Wales  or  Ireland?" 
"You  recognize  in  aU  those  countries  a  snirJf  ™~„ 
^^toyo..own.andonewithwtrZ2.T^^°: 
"Y-yes." 
"Then  isn't  that  my  point?    You  speak  of  Pn.r,  a 


vsaitei';:^ 


THE  HIGH   HEART 


tnree  thousand  miles  «wav  -i. • 

and  Minneeoti  and  ^ai  ^  ^'^  ""<>  Michigan 

a^  alone;  it^th'Sn^^;^^-' ^^  Jhat  isn't  cT 
''^ch  you  Americans  ha^^  /*»  *^«  counter  witi, 
otherintheworldT'sttronT^  <»  do  th^  with  any 
You  n«y  like  soie  o^^S^Tt^^*"*^"^^ 
from  having  it  as  your  mo!f       ^  '^  **"  *  ««*  '^^7 
minute  you%s,^r^tJSr*.?''^*~*^'«  «>e 
^th  a  little  Wh^in^wt!:    ^''"  I  declared. 
t^^„  «««a.     «  *3»t  makes  my  entente^por: 

^^  on  his  guarf!^  ^"*^  ^*  *^°««'>t  had  most  to^i 

"BnSn;VlL^^-''<^':;.  -d.   emphaticaUy. 
United  Statesl^^tr;2^,f"'^  Empire  and  th"^ 

-y-    I^P^akoftheTXTtSXo't^^'''"*^*" 
Ime  up  together     When  ^u    •      .    "^*  "^  «08t  easily 

followtlS^  iS^ttolT'  "r  ''^^  «>«  '^t  vj 
aUiance.  or  directed  ISlvo'S,"^""""''*^^-'' 
a  starting-point,  theTS.^°^  f^'  ^* '""^d  be 
aIsobeaninsta;«,ofwCt^^r"'*P^-  ^* '^""'d 
long  run  among  aOtblnt^^}^  accomplished  in  the 

toJanceandc4^o^^!i°'"  °'  "*«  "^'^  ^y  mutual 

•la'^hlrt'SS^oT^.^r^tf"'"*  «^«-  -as  a 
site  caUed  out,  "Good!"  I  J^J"?"  ""^  ^''^S  opp<^ 
cackle  of  a  "Brava!"  I  ouri^f^  ^  ^!^  ^'^^  Being's 
^^-cn  the  appeamnce  of  'S       f  V°°'  *^*'  af«id  of 


.V=_= 


THE   HIGH  HEART 

tJi«me.    It  was  burnW  in  heart.  .--«     •  ^     . 

r«5ven  it  a  oSj^thSS"  ti"^t?f  *^* 
nnimte  it  was  out  in  the  nn«,  v   i '  •     .  ""^  f»t  for  a 

««teveninNewport^\lr^  .^  fr«»  *«  serious; 
occasions  IcS^^lT^  ''*«r««  *<>  «n«fcnrtaad  that , 
forth.«stTo,^^  *^  ^°^  ^  over-perhap.1 

•way,  every  one  ioinjni       .V     ^*'  **»**  **«  not  far 

dotes  and  flash«»rf  wit  ^w  ^>eculations  and  anec 
•bould  ha,^2^*'  "^^^  !;!*««  than  I 
ofter  we  regaC^^^nr^^^'f'*^  whispered 
n«r  so;  l^TnZh^rT^'^^'  '*  '""l  »ade  the  din- 

tm'^lSL^lTaShS  S^^'   ^*  -  »«>* 

that  the  «al  play  bST^^  **^  '  "*"  "J«*^ 

a6 


CHAPTER  XXV 

««>less  it  was  Hurfi   !^„        *<>  have  any  one  near  her. 
When  oth^S^^^t  ST^'^^^'o  ''^  ^ 
-  this  even^  'Sv^^l^'  T  ""'  "^^ 
s..e  gave  out  to  individuals  wh^^  ^^^  ^  ""^ 
.  The  r^st  of  the  Pb^ZZSZ""^T  "^"^  *^«"- 
sitting.    There  w^adTLTS^*''^'^^^'* 
Rosdter,  Mrs.  Billing  !^  n    C^^'  ^'^  "^^  ^thel 
who  was  now  sSS2r?"f  ""i^^'  ^^^'^^^ 
The  two  banker  ^4  h^n^t^t^^^^  '^'^- 
room.    As  I  imf««^  xt    ^  .        ^'^  '°  "le  smoldnp- 

custo^a^^a^^^^'nsrj^'^^^^^'  '^^ 

seraglio,  his  back  to  theZ,Tv  fitn,  J- ^^^  ^-  ^'^ 

«»ne  head  and  statelv  f  n^   ^       ^^i*'    ^'^  ^'  ''^- 
imposing  6g^  S^^n^^T°^^  h^ve  been  a  truly 

-^^wC^-ixttruie  ^^--- 

I  could  hanlly  hdp  Se  hotJ^Tt'^M  ""ST^  ^^°  ^  ^• 
^  I  was  wo4  4  Slt^  S  ^'i^"'^?'^^  "night 
ofhis£a„^,X^^-,t;r^;^i^^"«a.«nber 

392 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

BhJiw  •^'  ^  "^^  ^-  poor  old  dad  a 

''Fuieworksl    What  on  earth  do  you  mean?' ' 

vo«    «!,^''*^•^f^°*?  '''"^  ^^'"'^  80  off  too  close  to 
you,  and  espeaally  when  it's  in  church  " 

As  we  had  reacued  the  doorof  Mildred's  nxnn,  I  sepr.',M 
my  conduct  during  dinner  to  see  in  what  I  had  offended  " 

It  IS  ix^sible  my  entry  might  have  passed  unnoticed  if 
^fc.  BroWure,  with  the  kindest  intentions,  had  not 
come  forward  to  the  threshold  and  taken  me  by  the  hand 
Z,r  "^  a  presentation,  she  led  me  toward  the  august 
figure  before  the  fireplace. 

t«™°!^/."* ^Vff  '^^- '" ^^ ^"^ of  doingme agood 
turn,    distmguished  herself  to-night,  didn't  she?" 

hmself  m  pubhc.    He  was  often  cruel,  but  with  a  quiet 
^btle  cruelty  to  which  even  the  victims  often  <Kdn't 
taow  how  to  take  exception.    But  to-night  the  long- 
^thenng  furyof  passion  was  incapable  of  further  restraint 
Behmd  It  there  was  all  the  explosive  force  of  a  lifetime  of 
pnde,  oompkcenoe,  and  self-'ove.    The  exquisite  creature 
-a  vision  of  soft  rc«e,  with  six  strings  of  pearls-who  was 
^^g  her  ba^am,  as  you  might  say,  without  ha^-ing 
^f/r/;  T"^  hxm  to  the  point  of  fren^.    i  saw  later! 
what  I  didn  t  understand  at  the  time,  that  he  was  striking 
at  h«  through  me.    He  was  willing  enough  to  strike  at 
me,  since  I  was  the  nobody  who  had  foi^  herself  into  his 
family;  but  she  was  his  first  aim. 
393 


THE  HIGH  HEART 
loSS.y^^  rt  »  dW«infully.  h.  dWiUnMy 

Im  sorty  if  I've  done  anythiiw  wtomr  Mr  P-.u_ 
sbm,"  I  said  meeklv     "  r  j-j  TT^  wrong,  Air.  Brokan- 
H.  i~.l!7  '"•'"y-      I  d»dn't  mean  to." 

f»t!!  ^^  o^^y  head,  speaking  casually  as  on.  »h« 
takes  no  interest  in  the  subject^  ^^  ^" 

o«»1fw!!!fH^*  stupidities  "have  been  committed  bv 

people  who  didn't  mean  to-but  there  they  ««F         ^ 
Icontmuedtobemeek  "«^y«ei 

"Ididn-t  know  I  had  been  stupid." 
The  stupid  never  do." 

^^J«1 1  don't  think  I  have  been,"  I  ^ded.  with  risin, 

beakind««,onyrStotSiirwtw;r"'*  ' 
,.  ^He  pretended  not  merely  indifferei^Z'  reh«t- 

"Isn't  that  obvious?" 

;;Not  to  me-and  I  don't  think  to  any  one  else. " 

i«nonm«  of-<rf  ftiSLllhS^b^L^T^j 

people  who've  never  set  eyes  on  «^^T'     ^^  '^ 

394 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

Slnoe  no  one,  not  even  HmjJi,  wu  bum  taooA  to 
■tand  up  f or  me,  I  had  to  do  :t  for  mywlf . 
"But  I  didn't  knov  I  had." 

*  ^*^*'"^  "^*  ^*'*  ^^^  ^  ynraed  you  of,  if  you'U 
tjke  the  trouble  to  remember.  I  «aid-or  it  amounted  to 
that-that  untU  you'd  learned  the  way*  of  the  people  who 

are  generally  reeogniied  aa  ctfutm*  tJ/oirt,  you'd  be  wi«e  in 
keeping  yourself— unobtrusive." 

"Aad  may  I  ask  whether  one  beocmes  obtrusive 
merely  in  talking  of  public  ailain?" 

"YoullpardonmeforgivingyouaksKmbeforeothen: 
but,  smoe  you  invite  it—" 

I' Quite  so,  Mr.  Brokenahire,  I  do  invite  it." 

"•^^^  f  °^^  ^y  ^^  *°  what  we  call  good  society 
jwbeoome  obtrusive  in  talking  of  things  we  know  nothing: 

J'^'!!^'^^  Me  can  set  an  idea  going,  even  if  one  hasn't- 
•ounded  all  Its  depths.    And  as  for  the  relationa  betweea 
thia  country  and  the  British  Empire-" 
'*  WeM-bred  women  leavb  such  subjects  to  statesmen  " 

««t"i  **,? .  *  "•  ^^'"^  '^  *»««  ^  statesmen 
Wv.T;*^  .  r*"*  *"  temptation  to  say  it-"and 
we  ve  left  them  to  financiers;  but  we  can't  look  at  Europe 

^envise,  couldn't  make  things  worse  even  if  we  wen,  to 
tate  a  hand;  and  we  might  make  them  better  " 
fe^cT"  °°*  '"^'^  &«m  his  air  of  sKghtly  bored  indif- ', 

of  ZTbS.  ^  "^* '" '^•^ '^^^  «»»« J-o-K^ 

„  K-^*;  ^  Biokenshire,  I  have  some  knowledge  of  the 
s^ect     Though  I'm  ndther  English  nor  AmSn  S 

both.    I  ve  only  to  shift  from  one  side  of  my  mind  tithe 

395 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


P«rt  fa  .  plea  for  It "  *^"  "<*~  I'a  <P«»Kfl«l  to 

I  thiaJc  hia  nema 

**m  furiou.  if  I  ij^**  ^?^ '^  »««ld  probrtJy  have 

yw«hunxorot«IywMthe^-5r"^^«^    To  take 
I-w  an  opS^^'*'«^*^«  they  could  do." 

fo^rS^^.^e?.'"  «^^  ^ -..  if  you  ^  eo 
,  'wfSifS.''"- <=--«'' the  ob^^ty: 
buJtr'''*''^^    «•"—«*«„,„,«,, 

o£fadiffer«.ce.a„d^:^^^«-u«dbyhi.air 

tmstinawoman."  ^ '**'*'«' ''1««  you  put  your 

■Howard — please  t" 
^the«ythe«.asthe^^«,^^^^^^ 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


Jj^^  «d  not  p.,d.  «d  yet  b^  to  be  .p.«d  th. 
Say,  dad—" 

ly,  from  ber  chair  and  wm  bld^^n  ."'*°'  ''°°^"«<J- 

other  side  of  the  ^         '''"**"'^  '""y  frc«n  him  to  the 

•bout  him  an^.si'C  X^IT"  *  **"  *  '^ 

»ot  be  the  fim  in  the  S'S r^Tt'T^  ."' "^^ 

aake  the  statement  thatrsd.S,t'^"  ^*  '  """'^ 
Hugh  leaped  fomard. 

*;She'snot  in  love  with  another  maar- 
AsJcner. 

Hedutchedmebythewrist. 
youW'.""*"  *"  ^'"  ^  P'««l«i    "Tell  father 

away  your  oSZS  ^*  ^^0^1^*^°"^  '^"« 
^,^«enotime.forheIaugi:iStS^.^-  ="*^- 

They«  aU  her.  and  ^  c^  « '  ^^"^  ^^  Cissie. 
what  isn't  so."  contradict  me  if  I'm  saying 

■'A  S^Hfofr^.°1'°'°^'*''«^-"M«- Billing  cr  .led 

Hugh  obeyed.  stiU  clutching  my  wrist. 
397 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


m 


1- 


know  what  to  say  I  was  d,^^^*  ^^  ***  '  **»'* 
it  had  aU  came  iime^S"*','^^'  '^^  ^  ''"ch 
to  me  were:         ^"''-    ^  ""'y '«»d»  that  occuned 

"I  think  Mr.  Brokenshire  is  in." 

Oddly  enough,!  was  convinced  of  that     Tt        .u 
assuaging  fact.    He  might  hatemfw;   ^*''^*eone| 
made  me  the  object  o7tH«\r^^?;  ^*  ^"^  ''°^'^'t  '•ave 
his  right  mind    Sel^'^rt^-  "^.^'••''^^^ 

wife,  whrwasTtiUdLi  ?^^  '^'^y«^°"°'^his 
nothing  neTl^u  w'^  retreating-" but  then  that's 
gets  y^.    ibS'l^V'^  ^^'^  anything-tiU  she 

sort.  ButoS^SSir?'.:'*^  """«•  °^  ^''^ 
lookout!"  ^"'**^'"''«'<^"tches-then,myboy. 

Iheard  Pauline  whisper  "Tack  f™.  h 
something!"  ^^     ■'      '  ^**  Heaven's  sake,  do 

Once  more  Jack's  hand  was  laM  ~.  t,- 
with  his  foolish  "Say  dal-T  ^"^  P"^*  «  ««". 

up  quick?    She's  te^  awf  .w  "^^  "^^'^  y°»  to  do  it 

my  dear.  We  shall  vJT^  ,"  ^^°nt  be  alarmed, 
^^  capture  tIrSftioranTri  1^^  ^'^  ham- 
been  clever  in  your  att^  T^  TJT^  ^*  ^""'^ 
won,  and  you  sh^velTBuI^  t^  j"^'  ^°"'^ 

"sh-    TheanniesinEuropeifX''^*^"-    °°»'* 
3^        shc-nng  us  that  you 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


P^    T?r.  1^  ^       ^«'P«»sh  a  little  too  hani." 

^^^  a  mirg  ,t  off,  though  I  felt  no  pain  till  after- 

"Tell  me!"  he  whispered.    "TeUmpf    v~  . 
not«ar^,^f^^       TJ^'J«.n^you-re 

I  «mld  have  laughed  hystericaUy  ^ 

^J^h.  don't  be  an  idiot r- came.  s««nfully.  f«m  Ethel 

^l  ^"oT^S;^^^^^-^  ^t  down  on 
whispe«^  conversation  74  R^^  w  "^"^  ^  * 
tiptoed  his  deelc,  slim  per^^^T;,,  '  ^*  "^  ^^^^ 
Boscobel  foUowed  ^  ^  <!Se?.-  ^^  "^^  *='^" 
W^^e^^.^.e.'^lS^^-^w.nesatthe 

right."  ^       """y  '^'^^^  '*  s««ned  to  me 

^^S^'^y^ ''  '^''  --*  ^  ^  ^  laugh: 

j^::s^^tt.^erj— huS-rm? 

J^She  was.  Howarf.    Please  beheve  her.    She  was. 
autho^ty"  ^"«  «>««^  a  question  of  right  you're  an 

^rof^rs=;^s^:«T2£^  -- 

down  on  a  sofa  all  in  =  ivff^'*^  P^^-"»«  shadow  sink 
with  ^LZ%o^^_  *  ""'^  ^^P'  1^«  «»nething  shot 

399 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

can  tbeheve  in  my  doing  right-"  ^  '^ 

"What  were  you  in  such  a  hurry  for?    W«  thot  *i, 
^^^^^hatdadsay^thatyou-^^Sid^::^^?: 

"iree  words  oozed  themselves  out  likp  t^«l  ^ 

"Well — sometirues — ^3res." 

Either  he  dropped  my  wrist  or  I  released  w„rc»if     t     , 

fame,  rtih  Miitod  «rf  <^£lS^i^.??; 
400 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

beS ^'Iw^;"  '^^  "^  ""^-*  "^^ht  have 
h^«     It.    ,     '^^t  °n  «  a  purely  coUoquial  tone   ex 

J'Z^^^^^^^^^'^^^^sHvigh.    It  was  for 
two  or  three  reasons,  every  one  of  them  to  her^T 

Idiot.    She  was  marrying  him,  first,  because  he  was  kind 
Brot^-L^^r^^^dtT^o-^^^^^^^ 

=L^^ti^^-.n?w%rv:^^^----- 

ni3^'a2ble.'"™'  *'°"^''  '  '=^'  ^^^'^  -^e 

thl'^sSrf  "^A  Z"^^""  *"  ''""•    "^  ^^  «^  to  h^  f«»n 
the  start.    And  she  couldn't  foreet  it     Nn  „;~^ 

would    men  he  asked  her  to  rrj^  ^l^Z  h^a^' 
£  at?n?"'  "'"^  '^  P"*  "P  ^  ^^*  b'^  "'^  ot  eaiS 

buiii^^'Uir'"  ""^'^  «'"'^*'^^^'  ^  ^-  ^*^' 

4'!!^?'  r^^'^^*  rr ''•"  ^^  ^^^tt^J.  imperturbably. 
Jjou.  father,  hadn't  driven  him  to  it  wiWyour  hi 

^wiii-"^  "^  '*  ^"^"^  *^^*  ^  ^'^°"l<i  «P^  my 
"Oh  yourwiUI    You  seem  to  think  that  no  one's  ^ot 

ned,  ^d  you  sWl  try  to  keep  us  as  if  we  were  five  X 
?   ;,.     ir?.""^  °*  "•  ^"^  't'^  ti^e  some  of  us  sp^ 

Jot;wt;'xSj:^^^^'--— ^f-p^e  ■ 

Mr.  Brokeashire's  first  shock  having  passed,  he  got 
401 


THE   HIGH  HEART 


t,L^:^'Z^  •*  ^"^^y-    When  my  chi.dr«, 
you  like     Bu7w  fP-    ^«'<Wve  us  wherever 

Mrs.  Biffing  crowed  again  • 

'nf^r^^*^[  Neversupp««dyouhadthepIuck" 
^el  turned  her  attention  to  the  other  sirJher 

tioTinSiXtwh?^'f  =  "fsoneofexaspera- 
hadaber:Llro/jX^^^°\^^^™  ^•- 
and  you  can  take  it  fnj^"^  tt^  ^^^^r' 
question  of  breeding,  ^e's  the  gen^^e^.'^f  Jf.  * 
only  nnitation^^  except  Mildtld  ^    P^'  «°d  we  re 

toSw.°'^'-t^fn^'^-J-e.^'-<Js  went  up 
Rossiterfromad^.^  ^°^^  "^  "  *°  »^-«  Mrs. 
"My  daughter  I" 

its^n^rr  '"'  °"  ^'^  °*^*  ^^-^  of  the  r^  „^ 

H  AlixAdare  has  made  any  nustafcp  ,V.  K«~,  •  •  . 
ing  her  own  wishes-I  m^yJy^Zl  t  ^^'Snor-^ 
to  be  true  to  us     The  Lor^  tT      ?         heart-m  order 

-  much,  or  f^led^^S:tSTu?g:d"S'bt3^ 
we're  as  c^onasg...^-;S^^'^^^j 


W^!*'.' 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

But  b«»«se  she  is  an  orchid  she  couldn't  do  anything 
but^ttopve  us  back  better  than  she  ever  got  fiTS 

;;0h  no;  it  wasn't  that!"  I  tried  to  interpose. 
It  s  no  dishonor  to  her  not  to  be  in  love  with  Hugh  " 
she  pursued   evenly.    "She  may  have  thought  she  wL 

SS?  1  t:*f '  "^^  ^°"^'''  *^  --  infovefd.r 
tones?  A  fine  day  in  April  will  make  any  one  think  it's 
^^  ahre^y;  l^t  when  June  comes  Ly  iTow  1 
dtfF«ence.    It  was  Apnl  when  Hugh  asked  her;  and  now 

"5^;...  T\'°f"'''^''^-    Sheisinlovewiih-" 
Fleaser'Ibrokein. 

She  gave  me  another  surprise 

ws  ^ovTi" ''''  "^  "^  '^-  ''^  °^  ''y  M«<^- 

I  had  to  do  her  bidding.    The  picture  of  the  nx»n 

TZl  'V  °"  "i  '^'''  '^'^^'^  I  ^^-^  think  of^ 
^eZ^    It  seemed  rather  empty.    Jack  had  retired  to 

^  M^^lV  ^^^  T  ^*  *=  '"°°'^sht  on  the 
Tf!!^-  ^  ,  ^^  "^^  enthroned  in  the  middle,  taking  a 
subordmate  plaoe  for  once.  Mrs.  B^kenshire  w^s  on  tte 
»fa  by  the  waU.    The  munnur  of  Ethel's  voice  b^t  no 

m^Jr^S^''"^'^^-    Hervoicehadthedeep,ow 

"You  must  forgive  my  father  " 
evjl^^^"^"^*°-^-    "I-liacehiminspiteof 

.™^'*  ^  ^"  ""^  '^*^'^'  y°"'"  remember  what  we 
agreed  upon  onoe-that  where  we  can't  give  aU  o,^  fi^t 
consideration  must  be  the  value  of  what  we  iTd  " 
403 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


"You're  a  puss  I" 

been  willing-  Z^^-T^''^^^'^  '^°  "  f«*er  had 
motive.  Whotoo^lrwSjT'h'^''''""^* 
looJced.^dat.eoSrSdir*"^*"""^''-'"' 

oueS'^'gi^r^U^r-^  ^^'  "^  ^-'  «-^  I 

his  hand  quiS^  ^d  ttfrin^^^'^.  it  he  drew  back 
can  hear  TS  ^^l^^"^  "'J  *«  fl°«-  ' 
fire-irons.  ""«witn  a  httle  rattle  among  the 

After  aU  her  year,  ^'sSS  J^i^^  SS^  ^t"" 
must  have  made  him  f edl^7„^'  **  ®  rebellion 

repeated  my  curtSToKi^cf'^*''*^''""^    ^ 

-ethrxnrghh^rt^^to  r^«;^!';»«^3''^  «* 

no  noti^.  Who  Sps  di^ ^  ^f^l^.^^ 

404 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

MMrti.v,ho  nuaed  her  long,  white  hand        **'^^  *» 
Jn  the  haUoubddeCisdeBoscobelnx*  and  came  towarf 

^7s^T^;^f^''^"'-'^^^^>  bn.thlessly. 
^Ste  did.    As  I  h««ied  down  the  stai«  I  hearf  her 
"No.Hugh,nol    She  wants  to  go  alone." 


POSTSCRIPT 

five  r£°S^^  1^*  IT^^.'T*  ^  ^-^  « 
of  leaden  g^W^Z^J^]^  T  f  "^*''='  «  ""^ 

the  other  side  of  thecrescen^^v.  ^^  ^°^  °» 
-oje  is  ^i„,  sS,^Li  t^ie^l^  °lPf 
woods  round  me  thp  Kiwi,      i.-  ^  7  "'"'"^^  air.    In  the 

f-n  PloHda.  W  tle^'^tttlr^BL'r  ^^^ 
mping  sleepily     Thev  x^-lT^   "'"^'/"^  Brazil,  are  chir- 

With  LrL  in^nrs^sr"srr 
TirrTer'^d^  ^^  --^^  ™^-t 

H^banfa^dr^-rit^^-ttS  Has  lent  *°  ^ 

toLTS^^tf::^fi-°n;^::rsr^ 

hJ^  Int^;,:^^trK"^;  «  he  stir.  I  can 
bassinet  It  l^!  T^  ^  ^^^  ''  ^"^'"^  "'  ^'^  «t«e 
the  Wilis  n,^r°'*  °'  "^  •'^^^  "-  -  tl^- 
lace  peiSTl^feTZ;*"^  am  I  wearing  a  delicate 

becai^lt  is  as  it  I     M^th^  ^"^^"^  "^  *'^*' 
IS  as  It  IS.     My  baby  s  name  is  John  Howard 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

You  will  .M.  ^r" '"™««'  we  pPtmounce  Brook. 

Jenn.  to  dear  Hugh  BS>£'^?J2""r  "^T"^ 
idnam  tc  n.,  now,  that  nichf  h„r«  ^  f  ^'^'  * 

enough  toiwcaU.  '  *  *^'**"  **>"  vivid 

On  escaping  Hugh  and  making  my  wav  rt™™  ♦  •     r 
was  lucky  enough  to  find  Tw!  ^  <l<wn-stairs  I 

knight.    Poor  iS^f    1^1?°°^'  ""^  '^'"'d  footman 
farhim.  as  teXnSti^f'  *r™P<='  ''^  «>"nding 

that  and  wm  WlWiT     ^  ^  ^"^^^  ^'^^Y  after 
^  bring  Mrs.  Ro^tT^  *°  ^"^    ^'-  J«^  Broke„shir« 

win^o:jThir£tsL'«r"r'^«-"^^«'« 

TJiM-™,       1    •   V^  ^^*"  suddenly  to  New  VnrV 

Sp^atZvid^:^tr^rrcr>''^'^-^ 

Newport  to  IWidencTabout  t^^tS^v'T'""" 
^ow  a  quarter  past  eleven  H  ttaT^^^'  ^^  '*  ^"^ 
must  take  it;  ifXre,3t  th.      .  ""**  *  *™°  ^ 

into  the  deptL  IfX  T  ^-    ^  ^'"  ^^-  t^-^fo^. 

aepths  of  the  hmousine  with  the  first  sense  of 
407 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

J^rf  I  had  had  Mce  the  day  I  aee«,«*^  ™ 

Mrs.  Roster.    SomttbZ  t^^'^^^^^'^*^ 

the  two  yea«,  C  2^  ^JT*'  "^"^"^  "«  ''^ole  of 

Now  it  was  delidoT  I^m  h.         I  ?  '  tight-it,pe. 

along  Ochn,  Poinr^ve^^S  t^Thtf  ^'  *^'  '"^•' 

Pot  Hugh  I  had  no^lnTnt^  ^^.  '""**  "^  '°»?- 

bUt  :ful  tobe  frT  Alt  n       fTP^*^'°"-    "  was  so 

Let  n,e  say  at  onX^T:^^ ^Z'^^t^^^'^- 
Lady  Janet  Boscobel  was  enracedT,T^,  ?'  **  "^ 
at  the  front,  and  her  na^^  .  ^^u  ^"^  '^  "^"^l 
home,  Hugh  wTh«r  «^      '^  ^"^^^  C'^"'"  ^  80 

beginiungSrendwS^^^^'^^r  '' ^^  ^^ 
whiA  noone  wish«^^^iy""j5  "  "  -ght.  of  a  healing 

and  Hugh  hrSTn^eT^^''°°^  °^  Poperinghe. 
before  vidua  St  w^C,"^.'"'^,  Ambulance  Cwps 
haps,  by  some  min^^   ,,  ^^'  ^°''''  '^''^  ea«"er,  P«v 

itatGoldboroughCastir^;?tS:a!^Si"T''^'^ 
Cissie  when  for  a  tmp  T  »,„  i,  i  •  "*  /-'oid.    I  ran  across 

far  l^ind  thel^^rNeT^  c'SeV  """^'"^  '^'^  -* 

ovinS^rTeS^Sfitvt:"  ^°'— ^ 

brother  as  Lord  L^twC!,  J  h^tatmg  to  follow  his 
other  sec.Xi^^-^t:^''^^^^^:^^^'^ 
hadn't  supposed  til]  th^  *Z  T  ^^  to  see  him.    I 


THE  HIGH   HEART 


hope  her  devotion  will  be  nnr.^^ 

^y  ™  wiu  be  rewarded  «oon,  and  I  think  it 

liberty,  to  lightness  o'tlt.  ^i^^STtr  ^f  '"^  °^ 
my  smt-case  I  could  have  ««.  l^  ^^  *^««  «'» 
waiting  for  her  misti^TS  „,  ""^f"'  '''•°  ''^  "P. 
to  finish  my  packinrai^"f  ^  '"''  "'"''  ^""^^ 
Rossiter  would  have  noS/t„^  f°*'  **  *^*  ^rs. 
after  me.    It  couldn't  £^1,^  tf   *  T^  »^  '^"^ 

amvalatthehousebefo^rwi*!lXi!r  ^*"  ""' 
I  was  in  the  down-stai™  i,!?,.^  *°  drive  away  again. 

When  a  great  bla^^p^^^^^ -' ^the  motor, 
loiees  shook  under  me-  mvJ^  doorway.    My 

the  many-colored  6^«S^£rT°f  ^  ''"^  ^^^ 
"^PPort  to  th«  pili^Sit^n-  i!S*^-  ^  *='""«  f°r 
the  stairway.  ***  ^^^^  the  balustrade  of 

al^p^r^""'"^'"'^-^«.»'^teofitswhiHash 
'Where  are  you  going?" 

"What  for?"  '     ■ 

_Fot--€or  every  reason." 

But  suppose  I  don't  want  you  to  go?" 
IshotddstiUhavetobegciie." 
He  said,  ma  hoarse  whisper- 

Oh,  but  how  can  I?" 

409 


THE   HIGH   HEART 
"He'f  wOling  to  foiset  what  you'w  Mid-whitt  mr 

eI.iif^BrW  "  *"  ""^  ""^ '^ '"^ '^^^  "«  «• 
"Not  inore  than  you  were  at  the  begitming  of  the 
•veoJng.  You  were  willing  to  many  hfan  then" 
T  1^  ^  «Ji«ln't  know  then  what  he's  had  to  lean,  since. 
Itopedtohave  kept  it  from  him  ahray..  I  may  h.v« 
^WTojuf-Iauppoielwas;  but  I  had  nothing  but  gooc! 

There  waa  a  Btrange  drop  in  hi»  voice  ai  he  iaid. "  I  knr- 
you  hadn't."  ^^      ^^ 

I  couldn't  help  taking  a  step  nearer  him. 
'Oh,  do  you?    Then  I'm  ao  glad.    I  thought— " 
He  turned  slightly  away  from  me,  towari  a  huge  ugly 
fi|hm  a  glass  case,  which  Mr.  Rossiter  beHeved  to  bT. 
proof  of  his  sportsmanship  and  an  ornament  to  the  hall 
^v«  had  great  trials."  he  said,  after  a  pauae-"great 

"I  know,"  I  agreed,  softly. 

He  walked  toward  the  fish  and  *emed  to  be  rtadying  it. 

They  ve-they've— broken  me  down." 
"Oh,  don't  say  that,  sir!" 

head  to  tad.  "The  things  I  said  to-night-"  He  seemed 
hung  up  there.  He  tn«ced  the  fish's  skeleton  back  ftom 
t°  h«^.  "Have  we  been  unkind  to  you?"  he  de- 
mMded,  suddenly,  wheeling  round  in  my  direction. 

I  thought  It  best  to  speak  quite  truthfully. 

'Not  unkind,  sir — exactly." 

"But  what  did  Ethel  mean?    She  said  we'd  been  brate. 
to  you.    Is  that  true?"  "'=™  wuica 

410 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

"  No,  sir;  not  in  my  aenM.    I  haven't  felt  it  " 

-whaS^  ^  ^°°*  '^*  ^  °"  taperiousneM.    '"nHm 

We  were  so  near  the  fundamentals  that  again  I  felt  I 
ciiKht  to  give  him  nothing  but  the  facts. 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Rossiter  meant  that  wanetimes  I 
shot:ld  have  been  glad  of  a  little  more  sympathy,  and 
Jjway^  of  more-<»urtesy."  I  added:  "Prom  you,  sir  I 
shouldnt  have  asked  for  more  than  courtesy." 

Though  only  his  profile  was  toward  me  and  the  haU 
was  dun,  I  could  see  that  his  face  was  twitching.    "And 
— and  didn't  you  get  it?" 
"Do  you  think  I  did?" 
"  I  never  thought  anything  about  it." 
"Exactly;  but  any  one  in  my  position  does.    Even  if  we 
could  do  without  courtesy  between  equals-and  I  don't 
thmk  we  can-from  the  higher  to  the  lower-from  you  to 
me   for  mstanc^it's  indispensable.    I  don't  remember 
that  I  ever  complained  of  it,  however.    Mrs.  Rossiter 
must  have  seen  it  for  herself." 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  marry  Hugh,"  he  began,  again, 
after  a  long  pause;  "but  I'd  given  in  about  it.  Ishouldn't 
have  mmded  it  so  much  if— if  my  wife—" 

He  broke  off  with  a  distressful,  choking  sound  in  the 
throat,  and  a  twisting  of  the  head,  as  if  he  couldn't  get  his 
breath.    That  passed  and  he  began  once  more. 

fi,  '^^J^  FT^  *'^'-  •■■^y  ^"«'  ...  And  then 

«ie  burden  of  this  war They  think-they  think  I 

dont  care  anything  about  it  but-but  just  to  make 
money.  ...  I've  always  been  misjudged.  .  .  .  They've 
put  me  down  as  hard  and  proud,  when—" 

..t'LT^^  ^"^  ^^  y^'  ^^•"  I  interrupted,  boldly. 
I  told  you  so  once,  and  it  offended  you.    But  I've  never 
41 X 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

been  able  to  help  it.    I've  always  fdt  that  there  was 
something  big;  and  fine  in  you-if  you'd  only  set  it  £tee  " 

His  rq)ly  to  this  was  to  turn  awayfrom  his  codtempla- 
uon  of  the  fish  and  say:  ^^ 

"Why  don't  you  come  back?" 

I  was  sure  it  was  best  to  be  firm. 

"Because  I  can't,  sir.  The  episode  ia-ia  over.  Tm 
sorty,  and  yet  I'm  glad.  What  I'm  doing  is  right  1 
suppose  everything  has  been  right-even  what  happened 
between  me  and  Hugh.  I  don't  think  it  will  do  him  any 
harm-Cissie  Boscobel  is  ther&-and  it's  done  me  good. 
It  a  been  a  wonderful  experience;  but  it's  over.    It  would 

be  a  mistake  for  me  to  go  back  now-a  mistake  for  all  of  ua 
Please  let  me  go,  sir;  and  just  remember  of  me  that  I'm— 
I  m— grateful." 

He  ««arded  me  quietly  and-if  I  may  say  so-curioudy. 
Tlere  was  something  in  his  look,  something  broken,  some- 
thmg  defeated,  something,  at  long  last,  kind,  that  made 
me  want  to  cry.  ^^ 

I  was  crying  inwardly  when  he  turned  about,  without 
another  word,  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

It  must  have  been  the  impulse  to  say  a  silent  good-by 
to  him  that  sent  me  slowly  down  the  hall,  though  I  was 
scacely  aware  of  moving.  He  had  gone  out  into  the  dark 
and  I  was  under  the  Oriental  lamp,  when  he  suddenly 
reappeared,  coming  in  my  direction  rapidly.  I  would 
have  leaped  back  if  I  hadn't  refused  to  show  fear  As  it 
was.  I  stood  still.  I  was  only  conscious  of  an  over- 
whelmmg  pity,  terror,  and  amazement  as  he  seized  me  and 
kissed  me  hotly  on  the  brow.    Then  he  was  gone. 

But  it  was  that  kiss  which  made  aU  the  difference  in  my 
afterthought  of  him.    It  was  a  confession  on  his  part  too 
and  «  bit  of  self-revelation.    Behind  it  lay  a  natuie  of 
4ia 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

^  "^J^  <l«»Ktl«-rtiong.  noble,  domlnattoe  meant 
to  be  us^  for  good-all  mined  by  selfJoT^W^fkr^ 

te^family.ofwhomlamaofondandtowhoml^ 
so  much,  he  was  the  one  toward  whom,  by  somrblfa^ 
^taneous.  subconscious  sympathy  rfrnVo^  I  W 
been  most  urgently  attracted.    If  h^  sod  wa^^!e5  W 
P«ss.o.«  as  his  face  became  twisted  by  thZ^SS^T 
who ja  there  among  us  of  whom  sometMng  of  the^^' 
notbe  said;  and  yet  God  has  patienSlS'"*^ 
Howard  Brokenshire  and  I  were  foes,  and  we  fouehf 
but  .^fought  as  so  many  thousandsTw  i^^^' 
have  fcught  in  the  short  time  since  that  d^  w^fS 
as  those  who,  when  the  veils  are  suddllyTi'pS  S 
whaxtheyarehdpless  on  the  battle-field  Jt^^KtTS 

^^^ST-     ^'*«''^'»^'»y  baby  was  bom^ 
caUedlum  after  hnn.    I  wanted  the  name  as  a  symbol- 

«rt  only  to  myself ,  but  to  the  BxtAenshire  fanS^t 
there  was  no  bitterness  in  my  heart.  •^y—vm 

At  pTMent  let  me  say  that,  though  pained.  I  was  scarcdv 

SS  *SL"  *?'^"' X'^'' ^  -  «»«"°S^ 
^temooo  ttat  Mr.  J.  Howard  Biokenshire,  the  eminent 

^^.  had.  on  the  previous  evenir«    b^TS 

wrth  a  paralytic  secure  while  in  his  motOTM,  the  way  fr^ 
^cbughter'shousetohiown.  He  was  oonsd^  S 
^ed  mdoo«  but  he  W  lost  the  power  of^^ 
^doctors  mAcated  overwork  in  comaection  with  fo^ 
affiMTS  as  the  predisposing  cause 

ovS^v^'  ^?^^.  I  l«««i  «  each  successive  shook 
ov«rtook  him  Very  pitifully  the  giant  was  laid  low.  W 
^^"^^^'''^^""'"^^^-BrokeiXeS 
w^J^ovw  Jnm-^d  yet.  I  suppose,  with  a  terrib^ 

tragic  expectation  m  her  heart,  which  no  one  but  mysdf 
413  ■ 


THE  HIGH  HEART 

country  went  to  war. 

SL^^!!!?°^-    0«  ««*«««:  out  of  the  tmin  at 
H^«Lany  Strangways  received  me  in  his  atffls. 

^^  T  *^^  T  "°  '^"'^  dining-room,  with  myself 
s^bng  the  guests;  I  saw  no  bassinet  and  no  baby.    W . 
nottmgbjxthm    I  knew  nothing  but  him.    mJLZ 
to  me.    It  was  the  difference. 

rJ^Tl^jTi  "^  ^^  '^"^'  ''•>'=''  I  came  to  find 
out,  was  the  fact^t  it  was  Jim  Rossiter  who  had  sent 

to^ere-Jto  Rossiter.  whom  I  had  rather  despS  ^a 
s^,  caUhk.  per«,n,  with  not  much  though  beyond 

h^.^^  r  ?^°y  Graingeiwas  a  Brokenshire  oS 
by  affim^he  could  do  it-to  use  his  iniiuence  at  WasW 
^and  Ottawa  to  get  Larry  St^gways  a  w  J'X^ 
&om  Pnncess  Patrida-s  regiment-to  watch  overl^ 
mo^e^mNewY^k  and  know  the  trainlsh^ilStZ 

When  I  thmk  of  rt  I  grow  maudlin  at  the  thought  of  the 
good  there  ism  every  one.  -s  >•  «i  lue 

We  were  mairied  within  the  week  at  the  old  diureh 

viJerTw^f^^  ^'"..'"^  ^"^^'^  '^^^^J  t° 
MflS?c?E„Tn7^  ^  near  hin-to  Quebec.  After  he 
SMted  for  England  I,  too,  sailed,  and  met  him  there.  I 
tept  near  him  m  England,  taking  such  nur«ng  training 
«s  I  could  while  he  trained  in  other  ways.  I  wTnrt 
•naay  nulcB  «way  ftom  him  when,  in'^e  s^  S 
414 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


could  to  TveLT^     lol    T,"^  "^"^^  '''^t  they 
and  now  Tw^tith  rr^r;  *^  '^'^  ^«=«<1^ 

Laterhewast^i^/  A  .^'^^^"°^*^<^aD.S.O. 
at  P^gntonT'S^^^^^--  W°!«en>s  Hospital, 
of  being  nea^hiTl^!:^,"^*^  again  I  had  the  joy 
the^,  ^d^hai^v^    *^'=^°^*^-I»^«ot 

But  something  S^dtfTI      ^T"  '**°'^  *°  *=««• 

what  he  had  seen  aid^  L'Ze'l  Z'l,  '^ 
Lazarus,  after  his  recaU  to  life  bv  ^^f  LTu  "^^  "' 
spoke  of  what  he  had  exJw-Tl,^  ^f^'  ****  ''e  never 

Ican.yasmu^^mXS"*'"*'""^^'-  -<* 

— ^s^^^i-^-^sr^d^* 

415 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


•"^y^Jng  that  is  o(  this  world     It  i„ 

speech,    past   undfircto^-T^"    ""«»»« «WW  part 

which  no  ^CSt^trr  T  "^  '-P^ 
wherehedid       ^  °"*  ™* '^J"*  have  teamed  them 

£Set^r^rrri=tf-- 
s?ir^^^-«^-«^-2tr^ 

«>dc-bl«e  waterTi^Bav  ^.T^^^^  ""^  ^ 
^*-d  my  husbanl'I^^^TS.:^^  "S  J^*^* 
covered  I  went  tn  »  /v>«.         rT  .  vvnen  I  had  r&. 

left  the  hcSlX  iS:*  "S^H  ^^  ^"^  ^ 
has  been  so  sic,;,  we  C^^  i„^!^  "f^"^  *« »«« 
tiy  ever  smce  til.  a  W  J™^  '"^^  ^'^n  ««a- 

ment  allo^'uS,  c^  ^  ^•.  *^  ^"*^  Govern-' 

lyi^^S^lSdt^^'^'*,^  He  is  sound  asleep. 
«^der  whS^  £  '.St  J^  '^  """^  '^^''«y  «*  <*« 
accustomedt^h^SC^r'-  ^'  ^  getting 
tinaeheismyott^Sv   „^'^''^*'^'«Pi'^y-    ^ean- 

the  bond  is  closer.  ^  P«P«t><M  as  he  needs  me 

li^"aiSS^-"^%r^«  that  used  to  flash 
hesmCirislStw  r**^'^'^^'^-    ^en 

awa^^hari'fcr^^r  r"  ^^" 
a  sweet  smile  a  h™,™  _   "  '^  before  the  wai.    It  is 

it  Pi^ces^  to'tlS^°»^'  "^  ^*^y  ^<=^J  "nd 

4x6 


THE  HIGH  HEART 


"^one.    I  thought  I  S!;   '■««  fin  American  and  I 

had  been  bom  a  subject  ^LTa  .  *^  °°«'  i^^t  as  I 
then^,htofourlandiLTinH^''^°'',^«^-  B«t  on 
aad  played  the  "StarHSoantruTS    '     ""''*^  ^<i  came 

mamage.  "*  **^  I  had  shed  sinoe  my 

«?«1  to  listen  to  the  ciSn!^^     "^  ^"^  '"y  '•"*and 

witttte empty sleeve.1S  wLf^"^'  ^"^"^ 
Played  again,  his  eyes/a^eU^^f'™^.  """eairwas 

It  recalled  to  me  wl^t  ZT-T  ^'  ^"^  '^ 
Jieve  «,e  nighrnS^'Sd"s2'Sl'^'^'^-«Jto 
HewokeiatheunaDho^aSi^^f!  hm,  at  Paignton. 

^S  with  him  out  of  the  Ia^„r7^  ^'  ^^^^  to 
A&d,  after  all  if  *   *    l 


THE   HIGH   HEART 


been  too ^  .  «S1     T  ]  ^'^'  ''^^  '"^-    I  have 
wish  Sn  to  hLTc^o^'f  r  *°"'*'^  ''^  '*•  ^  ^ 

%JSJir4'"^S%Trf £  and  the  d«^  , 
"ew,  true  man  is  coming  to  his  o^.^^  »^y  and  the 

nation  of  mantod  ^    ^*  '^  '"^^^  °°  «^ 

thS'^'*^  f  ^-r*  -  »«-  begm.  to  Hve  again. 
«i!  wmoe  a  great  Renaissance.    It  wiU  be  what  th- 

shall  they  learn  wL^y"P^^  '^^  ««««».  neither 

JL*")**^^  ^^^':  ^'^S  «>  silvery  that  as  day  ad- 
ftl^.l^"'  r^*^'^^  S"'*^'  I  tn"  to  my  Bibte 

418 


THE   HIGH   HEART 

have  never  read  it  at  aII  t.._  -i 
hands  and  ^th*  ^£jT,^  ^^  '^^  *^^g 
whatforthema^t^^^^!«««-    And  «,  I  «ad 
eningwo«is:^^^^^^™^*°  "«'<»»«*  strength- 

the  earth  diSs^/^^ti^ '"^'  "",''*''  ■*"■=  ""^P^^ 

^ter  those  thing,  whidfrS|*^^f ^:  7^  f^  '"^"^ 
of  heaven  shaU  be  shaken.  AnZ,?  ^  '  '"  ''*«  P°'«« 

N^^t  U  SS^^^''.  *"»  t^vaa  Of  the 
It  «  coming  ltoZ^,n^TP*'°°  «■  °°  the  way. 

pamtsthethiCwwSlr^'^""'^'''*^-    It 
of  man,  but  ES  t  "^  ^*^  ^*°  «»«  heart 

nomanwillHvetS.'i'ff^^-    ^o*  *  ^"ture  that 
the  blue  sky.  7tS  rfiitT^^.  ^T^  ^^^  ^"^  ^ 

and  pearl  ^t^l^  ?*  "'*°  '^^'  ^d  ia«o  into  peari. 

6om  wavelet  to  i^w^=  ^  "T  '*""^  ^«tw««l. 
and  still  more  n2  f  ^f^fr "^  ^  "dealing,  nearer 
Mighty  007,^'*^"'  ^"^'^^  P^th'^^y.  as  if  same 
c^^L^J^:'^^  ^^''^  *°  -«•  "Even  so. 
419 


THE  HIGH   HEART 

Bvco  w  I  kMk  up,  and  Uft  i4>  my  bead.   BtukI 

poMHi  my  nol  in  patience. 
Even  80,  too,  I  think  o(  Mildred  BrakenaUre'a  voida: 
"Life  it  not  a  blind  impiilae,  worldnK  bUndly.    It  k 

a  beneBoent,  rectifying  pcnm." 


TBB  END 


on  I 

xdt: 
Itk 


